


President Abernathy

by EllanaSan



Series: Have a Drink Sweetheart (Hayffie Prompts/one shots collection) [38]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Don't Ask, F/M, Fluff, Haymitch is president of panem, Just Roll With It, New Year's Eve, Smut, and i have decided it would be placed under the sign of, if you're surprised raise your hand, it's a new year, my new favorite tag, the whole shebang, yeah it grew into a bigger story, you must be new around here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: How that man had ever gotten elected to anything, never mind the highest position in the country, wasbeyondEffie Trinket. Haymitch Abernathy was a lot things – amongst them, she was forced to grant, a brilliant mind – but a public personality, he was not.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Series: Have a Drink Sweetheart (Hayffie Prompts/one shots collection) [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/71774
Comments: 152
Kudos: 176





	1. Happy New Year, Mr President!

**Author's Note:**

> Starting now I plan on cross-posting the HADS one shots and prompts on AO3 so you can expect an update to this serie every Wednesday if you're interested. It will be a collection of unrelated prompts and OS. I'm not reposting the one from the previous collection, they will stay only on ff but check them out if you want ;) 
> 
> And to start this year 2021 that we hope will be better than 2020, I say we start with a bang! Or, more accurately, some modern au crack. I am hereby declaring this year should be cracky – in a good way. 
> 
> The prompt comes from a list reblogged on the hayffiepenthouse blog. 
> 
> Prompt: You’re the president, you were giving your New Year speech and I, a member of your staff, accidentally crashed it on live TV, can I kill myself now?

How that man had ever gotten elected to anything, never mind the highest position in the country, was _beyond_ Effie Trinket. Haymitch Abernathy was a lot things – amongst them, she was forced to grant, a brilliant mind – but a public personality, he was _not_.

Although, she _had_ to admit he had _undeniable_ charisma. A certain roguish charm, if you would…

Still, you expected _more_ from the President of a country such as Panem, she mused as she watched him read from the monitor in front of him, sounding and looking as bored as possible despite the fact she had made sure to add little parenthesis to the speech with reminders to _be cheerful_. New Year’s speeches should always been cheerful, _hopeful_ …

But why would that man listen to his press secretary and main speech writer? She was only the PR expert in the room, after all.

The more he talked, slouched in the comfy chair behind his messy desk like none of his predecessors would have ever _dared_ to, the more furious she became. She had _ordered_ the desk to be cleaned of the clutter and files. She had ordered _him_ to put on a bowtie. She had ordered him to _shave_.

And yet, _there_ he was, looking like a _hooligan_ who had just come back from a stroll in the gardens, in a slightly creased grey shirt gaping at the collar, his suit jacket carelessly open, leaning back in the chair like he wasn’t addressing the nation live and like he wasn’t supposed to attend the New Year’s ball right after that – where the dress code _was_ black ties…

When Plutarch had hired her, she had been intrigued – and maybe a bit fascinated with the unconventional President who had been born in Twelve and had managed to rise through the ranks with an uncompromising policy of equality and fairness. He was progressive and she had _jumped_ at the chance to work for him – to her conservative parents’ utter shame. However, the reason he didn’t seem to be able to keep a press secretary for more than a couple of months had soon become obvious. Three months in and she was threatening to quit on a daily basis.

He was _impossible_.

“And despite this year’s unpredictable circumstances, it is my sincere hope that we will be able to circumvent…” he droned out, eyes glued to the monitor only to abruptly stop, give the camera on top of the screen a dreadful look and do the thing she had told him to _stop doing_ if he didn’t want to have to hire yet _another_ press secretary: he went off-script. “I swear I ain’t the one making those speeches so boring, folks.”

The heads of all the staff members in the room turned toward at her as one, probably wary of her reaction.

He may have been the President of Panem but she had never been shy about letting him know just how displeased she was with his spontaneous decisions. In fact, she had heard the rumors. Their rows had become _legendary_ in the Presidential Mansion. People gossiped about them, they _betted_ about their arguments – they also betted about how long he would last before firing her but, weirdly, he didn’t seem to mind the fights as much as someone in his position should. He relished the challenge, she knew, and she was certain he did it to provoke her half the time.

As it was, she closed her eyes, counted to three while he went back to reading and forced a polite placid smile on her lips as she recited the words in her mind alongside him. She had worked _hard_ on that speech, _very_ hard. Plutarch was always trying to add his own spin but, thanks goodness Haymitch had more sense than that and had stated early on _she_ could have last word on official declarations – well, last word before _his_ , that was.

“Our unemployment levels…” he continued only to stop again and roll his eyes. “Seems like I’m supposed to sound cheerful while I tell you it’s still too high but we’re working on it… Better luck next year and whatever…”

Effie gritted her teeth and moved from the shadows at the back of the room to next to the monitor so he wouldn’t miss her looming presence – and the _threat_ in her eyes. His grey gaze – far too amused – darted off the monitor to her and back to the camera.

“Do you know how much it pisses them off when I go off-script like this?” he asked the camera with some _actual_ cheer – as if _that_ warranted amusement.

Never before had _any_ of her client been _such_ a _pain_.

She moved even closer, waving her hand in front of her throat to signal him his best interest was to cut it off and stick to the speech. She could have sworn it was like he didn’t even _care_ about his reelection chances at this point. _Sure_ , people _loved_ him for his natural and down-to-earth attitude but politics were politics and…

“So let me sum this next part for you ‘cause I can barely make sense of it myself… I swear my _lovely_ press secretary writes her speeches with a thesaurus open right next to her and chooses only the complicated words… She likes to confuse me, see… Can’t even say them right…” he mocked, glancing at her again, only to make a face – a fake one – and place a hand over his heart. “Wait, I’m supposed to pretend I write this myself… _Shit_ , well… Busted.”

_Shit_.

He had said _shit_ on national TV.

She was going to kill him.

_Kill_ _him_.

In her fury, she took another step closer to the monitor.

What she didn’t see was the cable on the floor.

One second she was glaring at the bane of her existence who also happened to be her head-of-state, the next she was flying.

Well… It was a short flight.

A sharp pain in her ankle as her high heel twisted beneath her foot and an equally painful landing on a hard surface that turned out to be the Presidential desk. Haymitch rolled his chair back out of reflex to avoid her while several special force Peacekeepers suddenly moved to attention at every corner of the room, ready to pull him out and… Well, _assassinate_ _her_ for assault on the President probably.

Good thing for her Haymitch lifted his hand in a preventive measure to tell them to stand down.

Unfortunately, it was also the moment Effie realized that the camera was probably getting a close shot of her butt and not much else. At least, she mused, she had had the good idea of wearing her pastel pink ballgown instead of the shorter designer dress Portia had tried to force on her. It floated down to the ground, so there was no chance of accidentally flashing the whole country with her lovely lace thong. Just…

She scrambled off the desk, barely aware Haymitch had stood up and walked around it to help her – and yet _excessively_ aware once his hand slid down her forearm to steady her – his grey eyes dancing with mirth, his lips stretched into that _infuriating_ smirk of his…

She flushed crimson and she wasn’t even sure if it was because of the incident that would probably be reran in _every_ gag reel for the _rest_ of humanity or because his hand was lingering and…

“I hate you.” she spat, cameras be damned.

“I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to admit that much aloud. Must be in your contract or something.” he retorted with a snort, turning back to face the camera. His hand left her forearm but he sat on the edge of the desk – which was a good idea because it meant he would be in the camera’s frame again but _imagine that:_ the President sitting down on the edge of the desk _like a ruffian_ … “Well, folks, I think that concludes the speech ‘cause I’m pretty sure I’m about to get my _ass_ handed to me on a plate…”

She blamed what blurt out of her mouth next on his _terrible_ influence. Actually, she blamed _everything_ that had happened that night on his terrible influence. “For _fuck’s_ sake, Haymitch, mind your language on national TV!”

She clapped her mouth shut immediately and pressed her hand on her lips for good measure but it was done. She had _said_ that. She had cursed in front of a camera. On New Year’s Eve. In front of all Panem citizens – and her mother amongst them. And she had called him _Haymitch_. She never slipped and called him Haymitch. _Never_.

And the _ass_ that he was looked _mighty_ pleased because he had been trying to get her to call him by his first name ever since she had showed up on her first day – something about not standing on ceremony that she refused on principle because there were _proper_ _ways_ to do things and…

She tried to sneak out, humiliated beyond measure, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back in the frame with him.

“Well…” He said cheerfully, half-choking on his laughter. “Don’t think we can quite top _that_ , sweetheart, so… Happy New Year, people! Don’t drink and drive and don’t set neighbors’ houses on fire with fireworks! Wish people a happy new year, Effie.”

“Happy New Year.” she wished in a flat tone but with a bright fake smile.

He waited for several seconds until he was sure the red dot had gone off on the camera and they were safe. When the room erupted in exclamations and chatter, he stopped pretending he wasn’t laughing like an idiot and bent in two to catch his breath.

She huffed, planted her hands on her hips, tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “I am _thrilled_ that my personal demise amuses you so, Mr President. You realize you have no other choice but to demand my resignation now?”

“Why? Cause the country got an accidental close up of your ass?” he mocked, gasping for breath. “It’s a nice ass, don’t think they’re gonna mind that much.”

“ _How improper!”_ she snapped. “I could have you brought up for sexual harassment, you _do_ know that, don’t you?”

“If you ever _seriously_ told me to cut it off, you know I would.” he retorted, lowering his voice a little, his amusement fading. “Don’t go tossing that kind of comments around unless you mean them, princess, ‘cause that can actually do damages.”

“Thank you, sir, I _am_ your PR here, I _do_ know what could damage your image.” she muttered, through clenched teeth. “And it _is_ improper.”

He frowned, looking a bit disappointed but not hostile. And far too serious suddenly. “So you want me to stop?”

That would have been the wise choice, she knew. The whole fighting thing, shouting at the top of their lungs and being at each other’s throat... It _hardly_ a good disguise for the bantering and flirting it was quickly but surely dissolving into and getting involved with someone at work was never a good idea. Never mind your boss. Never mind when your boss was the President of the country you lived in.

And yet…

She tossed him a covert look and then glanced away. “No.” She left it at that, spotting her assistant in the crowd of people and making a beeline for the boy. Peeta handed her her phone without her having to ask for it. She opened her social medial app and winced as she saw that _#TrinketCrash #Fuckgate_ and #AbernathysNewYearSpeech were trending. In that respective order.

She also could faintly hear Plutarch’s displeased voice in the background as he lectured Haymitch. Good luck with that. He might have been the most dedicated Chief of Staff but not even _him_ could control their president.

“Can I have the room?” Haymitch suddenly asked, raising his voice in that tone that he rarely used but that meant business.

Everyone immediately hurried in scrambling off.

“We need you to open the New Year Ball in the ballroom in fifteen minutes.” Plutarch reminded him as a parting shot.

Effie was doing her best to walk out with her chin up and what was left of her dignity intact, her eyes glued to her phone. People seemed more amused than anything. The opposition had already mocked the administration and had taxed them of unprofessionalism and incompetence but that was to be expected… Mostly it was endless gifts of her fall and her _F_ bomb with some side videos of Haymitch going off-script… More concerning were the few entries about his lingering hand on her forearm and the quickly rising hashtag “ _hayffie_ ”. People were speculating on…

“Effie, stay.” he called out over the sound of people leaving and she automatically stopped to shoot him a glare over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes but amended that command with a _please_.

Plutarch was the last to leave and he closed the door behind him after reminded her she needed to get him to the ballroom _on time_.

To say she felt trapped once they were alone in that room was a bit of an understatement.

He might joke a lot and look like he didn’t take anything seriously but he was a dedicated president and he was good man. He could do a lot of good things for the country, she knew that, and her little display would trigger some scorn for his administration and…

“I apologize.” she felt forced to say even though, really, it was _his_ fault. “And you will have my resignation letter on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t bother.” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “It’s gonna end in the trashcan.”

“Mr President…” she sighed, determined to advise him to the best of her abilities – and the best of her abilities told her he should _fire_ the incompetent press secretary who had just crashed and abruptly ended his New Year’s speech.

“Haymitch.” he corrected for what must have been the thousandth time since Plutarch had introduced them. That man could move like a panther when he wanted to. One second he was still next to the desk, the next he was right in front of her, a bit too much in her space for it to be entirely proper. He winced a little. “Look… About the sexual harassment thing…”

“I was joking.” she cut him off. 

“Are you sure?” He winced harder as if it truly pained him to even touch the subject of _whatever_ was going on between them. “Cause if I misread the situation…”

“You did not.” She sighed again, reaching up to rub her forehead only to stop when she remembered the make-up. He wasn’t that kind of guy. She had worked for _a lot_ of that kind of guy before, the ones who thought because she was young and gorgeous they were allowed to grope her or make salacious comments… He had only allowed himself to flirt when she had answered in kind and he had never tried to put his hands on her. And she didn’t think he would until she clearly invited him to because he was _very_ aware he had all the authority in the room and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. “ _Still_. Sir…”

“You’re giving me weird kinks calling me that…” he grumbled, taking another step forward. “Sweetheart…”

She had forgotten about _that_. No wonder the country was now speculating on the state of them. “You called me by a pet name on national TV!”

She glared daggers at him but it was about as effective as it ever was: he chuckled. “I call everyone pet names, don’t go thinking you’re special…”

“And I have told you _several_ times it is not good for optics.” she snapped. “You need to learn how to control what comes out of your mouth. Sir.”

She added the honorific a touch too late but he was standing too close to her and it was seriously making her feel… Not quite _dizzy_. But it was _a rush_. It was _always_ a rush when he got into her space like that.

“Never been good at that.” he granted. “Like, right now, I wanna tell you you look good enough to _fuck_ senseless but that’d be _really_ inappropriate…”

“Really much so.” she agreed, refusing to acknowledge the tingles his words had triggered. She was the one who stepped forward next, eyes riveted to his mouth.

He snorted. “Maybe you should resign after all… Wouldn’t be _too_ inappropriate then.”

“On the other hand, I was sprawled on your desk in front of the whole country. I do not think we should worry about _inappropriate_ too much anymore.” she remarked. “We are passed _that_.” When had his hands landed on her waist and when had his eyes darkened so much with lust? She licked her mouth and then bit down on her bottom lip. He let out a strangled sound that was half a groan… “Haymitch…”

The sound of his name was his undoing it seemed.

The kiss took her by surprise and it also took her breath away for a second. Then she gave back exactly how much as she got, not remotely surprised when it turned dirty _extremely_ fast. She wasn’t sure how he maneuvered them across the room without tripping on one of those _damn_ cables but soon she felt the wall at her back… His hands became bolder, exploring her body, so she tangled her fingers in his too long hair – he would _not_ escape a haircut for much longer if she had to bribe a special force Peacekeeper into tying him down for her – and tugged his head further to the side so she could kiss him exactly like she wanted…

She wasn’t aware he had lifted her up until the door suddenly opened and they stopped kissing with matching startled expressions to glare at whoever had strolled in without knocking. You simply _didn’t_ walk into the President’s office _without_ knocking. Plutarch froze exactly _one_ step past the threshold to stare at them with wide eyes.

Effie was suddenly _overly_ aware that her legs were wrapped around Haymitch’s waist, that her crimson lipstick was all over his mouth and that his hands were supporting her by clenching her butt.

“This is… really _not_ what it looks like.” she declared after clearing her throat.

Haymitch shot her an astounded look and then lifted his eyebrows. “ _Ain’t_ it?”

“ _Hush_.” she ordered. “You are _not_ helping.” She tried to unwrap her legs from around him but he didn’t seem ready to let go so she tapped his shoulder. “Put me down.”

“No.” he refused and then glared at Plutarch. “Go away.”

“You have to open the Presidential Ball.” his Chief-of-Staff bravely reminded him, his eyes politely averted.

He shrugged. “Tell them I got sick.”

“Put me _down_.” she insisted, slapping his shoulder harder. He sighed but relented. She immediately smoothed her dress and then worked on brushing the creases off _his_ shirt and jacket. “We will be there in a minute, Plutarch.”

“But I _hate_ balls.” Haymitch complained right as Plutarch left again, the Chief of Staff wisely closing the door behind him. “And I want you.”

The words shot directly south and if it had been up to her they would have missed the ball and… However, it _wasn’t_ up to her. And the ball was important. Lots of potential sponsors. Lots of influent people. Lots of deal to be made over flutes of _Don Perignon_.

So she pursed her lips and schooled her features in the severe expression that always had him rolling his eyes. “Duty first. Pleasure later.”

He immediately perked up. “Later?”

“Possibly.” she hummed. “Assuming you do not cause us any more embarrassment tonight.”

He _did_ roll his eyes, his trademark smirk on his lips. “Ain’t the one who crashed the New Year’s speech, sweetheart.”

“I would _not_ have tripped if you had followed my speech.” she retorted, nudging him in the direction of the door.

“Wouldn’t have had to go off-script if it had been less boring.” he shot back, opening the door and gesturing at her to go first. Plutarch and half of the senior staff were waiting in the office outside, apparently relieved they had decided to come out at all.

Haymitch and Effie tacitly decided to ignore the looks and walked on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“If you are not happy with my speeches, sir, find yourself another press secretary.” she huffed. “There must be _at least_ one or two in the Capitol you haven’t frightened away yet.”

“So what you’re saying is you got the job ‘cause nobody else wanted it?” he taunted.

She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out, relieved to see the ballroom’s doors appear in the distance. “You could have worn a bowtie. I _specifically_ told you to wear a bowtie.”

“Yeah, but then what the _fuck_ would you have complained to me about?” he asked sweetly with a fake innocent look.

She wanted to kill him.

Or kiss him.

Or possibly _fuck_ him.

And given the look he was shooting her, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Behind them, Plutarch cleared his throat. “Mr President? We are _late_.”

Haymitch looked at him, then back at her and made a face. “Save me a dance, sweetheart?”

_Obviously_ , she would save him a dance.

Didn’t she always? 


	2. Future First Ladies & First Gentlemen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t help myself. This one is a follow up to the New Year crack 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Haymitch woke up to the muted glow of a tablet and he groaned, automatically reaching across the bed for the woman propped against the pillows.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled, fumbling about for skin and finding nothing but fabric. The room was dark, the heavy curtains of the Presidential suite having been pulled long before he even stepped foot in it the previous night, but he still could guess at her in the soft light coming from the tablet in her hand. Squinting, not quite willing to blink away the last remnants of sleep, he could see she had pilfered his shirt from the floor at some point.

“Working.” Effie answered in a tired hum, tapping and swiping her finger on the screen with an ease he sometimes envied her. He wasn’t good with technology and he wasn’t willing to put in the time to improve but she made it look so easy…

He glanced over his shoulder at the bedside table and groaned again, burying deeper under the blankets. His hand finally found bare skin under the sheets. Her thigh. He moved it up to her ribcage… She had only done a few buttons of his borrowed shirt… “It’s five thirty.”

“Yes, and I need to prep for the briefing.” she replied without missing a beat, far too awake for someone who hadn’t had her coffee yet. “My apologies, were you under the misconception the briefing we give you every morning was happening by itself?”

She was mocking him. He could figure that out easily. But it was too early for him to engage in banter. He snuggled closer to her side.

“Don’t you have an assistant for that stuff?” he grumbled, trying and failing to tug her back down.

“I love Peeta to death but do I look like the sort of person who would leave the _President’s_ PR to my _assistant_ just so I can enjoy a lie-in?” she huffed, almost vexed.

He rolled his eyes. “No working in my bed.”

Being president wasn’t a regular nine to five job. It _never_ stopped. And if he started bringing work to bed… No. There _had_ to be boundaries and now that he had someone to regularly share his nights with, he was making it a rule. Work belonged _out_ of his bed.

“If I cannot work in your bed, I am going to have to go to my office.” she pointed out.

He let out his third groan of the morning – far too many for it being so early – and buried his face against her side. “What time do you get up at anyway?”

They hadn’t shared a bed regularly enough yet that he knew her habits. Actually, that was only the fourth time she had stayed the whole night, and, he figured, the other times had happened over a week-end so maybe she wasn’t as diligent about working so early because Saturdays and Sundays usually were slow news days.

“Four.” she answered with far too much cheer.

He studied her in the semi-darkness, waiting for her to say she was joking. Her eyes were glued to the tablet and the joking part wasn’t forthcoming.

He frowned. “At what time do you usually leave the Mansion?” 

Because most days, she was there as late as he was, sometimes later, and _it was_ late – but still he lived where he worked which made it significantly easier for him…

“It depends of what the schedule looks like.” she explained, distracted by whatever it was she was reading. She was taking notes too. Far too productive so early in the morning. “Usually after nine.”

“How far do you live?” he insisted.

He was curious about her place but there was no way anyone would let him go gallivanting about the city. Security and whatever. Their little affair was confined to various rooms of the Mansion when they found the time to get away with it – which wasn’t as easy or as sexy as he would have liked it to be, either. Sneaking around had been fun the first two weeks but after a month and a half of this…

“About thirty minutes. Forty-five when the traffic is bad.” she muttered, entirely distracted now. She was frowning at her screen and furiously taping whatever it was he would be briefed about in about… three hours.

He made the math quickly and scoffed. “Is that even _worth_ going home for?”

“Not really, which is why I do not own a cat and why I insisted on splurging for the coach in my office.” She half-shrugged. “I sleep there three days out of five. I have a whole closet full of outfits, which is useful since it saves me from a walk of shame when I stay over…”

That… explained a lot.

But he wasn’t happy with that.

“I’m gonna tell them to assign you one of the guest rooms.” he decided, his hand ghosting out of her shirt. “You should sleep in a bed when you’ve got to sleep over.”

He discreetly popped a button open.

He thought there were only three holding the shirt closed so…

“I thought I _had_ a bed where I could sleep if I had to stay over…” she teased, looking at him for the first time with one of those wicked grins. “Or am I only welcomed in your bedroom when you decide it, sir?”

The _sir_ did things to him when she used it in bed and she _knew_ it. He had never had that particular kink before but, then again, he had never met a woman like her before either.

“You are an evil, evil woman, sweetheart…” he commented, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“I live to please.” she chuckled, focusing back on her tablet.

He drew random patterns on the newly uncovered skin of her ribcage, not so sleepy anymore. He popped the second button open and she didn’t protest so he grew bolder in his caresses… He cupped her breast under the fabric, swiped his thumb over her hardened nipple…

Her concentration must have wavered because she lowered the tablet for a second before propping it back up on her bent legs… He reached for the third button…

“Don’t you _dare_ get me naked in front of a tablet.” she warned. “Haven’t you read the safety protocols, Haymitch? There’s a camera on it. What if we get hacked?”

He really much doubted anyone would care to act the Press Secretary’s tablet in particular but he gave up on the button and went back to cradling her breast anyway. “Then, there’s a hacker somewhere who would be really happy with the view…”

“Yes.” she said drily. “And the press would have a field day with the confirmation that there _is_ something between us.”

Trust her to be bothered about _that_ and not about the possible scandal of a presidential sex tape leaking.

He snorted. “Are we still trending?”

She sighed. “When are we _not_?”

It should have bothered him a lot more than it did but, truth be told, the fact that the whole country apparently speculated on the state of his relationship with his Press Secretary on various social medias amused him instead. He supposed it wasn’t such a surprise people had jumped on that. He hadn’t publicly acknowledged a romantic relationship since… Well, probably _ever_.

He had struck that particular notion from his life well before he had even become Mayor of Twelve. And _that_ had been _well_ before Plutarch had found him and convinced him he could do much more for the people of Panem.

Becoming President hadn’t been a lifelong dream or even a goal. He had run for Mayor because everyone else on the ballot was notoriously corrupted and, despite everything, he cared about his District. Then… Well, it had all grown rather out of hands. He wasn’t even sure _how_ he had gotten elected in the first place.

“Let them talk.” he advised, like he always did.

Not that he needed to.

“ _Obviously_.” she huffed. “Thank you for your input.”

She had asked him, once, a few weeks earlier, how he had managed to hide his past affairs so well. He had joked that his past lovers _hadn’t_ crashed his New Year’s speech and given the whole country something to chew over. Truth be told though, and as sad as it was, he wasn’t sure when was the last time he had bothered sleeping with a woman more than once. Never mind allow one to sleep in his bed the whole night. Effie Trinket had captivated him from the get-go and he wasn’t sure how exactly she had managed to sneak under his skin so quickly but there was no denying she _had_.

He had told himself it was the worst idea _ever_ even as he had engaged her in banter and shameless flirting. He _enjoyed_ arguing with her so much he sometimes started fights for the sheer joy of watching her get flushed and stand her ground like very few people around the Presidential Mansion had the guts to. Still, though, deep down, he had known it could all backfire very easily. She was working for him and he was the most powerful man in the country…

Plutarch had told him several times and in several ways – from subtle to plain – _how_ _much_ of a bad idea that was. People love Effie so it wouldn’t be like they would disapprove of his choice but the optics for an office affair would be disastrous… And he wasn’t the only one who would suffer the brunt of it. Already there were sneers about how she had gotten the job, comments about her ability to do it, questions about if she should keep her position if it turned out they _were_ sleeping together… Sometimes he was afraid Plutarch was right and this _thing_ they had started would just turn out to be a huge folly that would destroy them both.

But that was too bleak to consider so early in the morning when her breasts was so warm in his palm…

He couldn’t stop wanting her anyway, couldn’t resist the call of her flesh… She was a siren and he was totally _fucked_.

She groaned in annoyance, making a face at whatever she had just read. “ _Fuck_.”

He smirked again, always amused when her perfect lady’s manners slipped. The most hilarious part of his year had been her dropping the _F_ bomb on national TV… It was a memory he would cherish _forever_. She claimed it was his terrible influence… He liked to think she just wasn’t as stuck-up as she liked to pretend.

Still, she usually only swore when the situation was dire or when he was being very creative with his mouth.

“Are we getting invaded?” he asked, figuring he should show a minimum of concern for his country even if he had just brushed his hand down her stomach and was now trying to find the best angle to sneak it between her legs. Invaders could wait.

“No.” she promised, straightened the leg closest to him so he had better access.

It couldn’t be that bad, then. He was relatively confident she wouldn’t have encouraged him to touch her if they had been about to be nuked. She _was_ the most professional one out of the two of them after all.

“Is Thirteen calling for Panexit again?” he asked before disappearing under the blankets. It only took some relative shuffling to get her to spread her legs wider and to settle between them. She didn’t even fight him when he pulled her lower on the bed by her hip so he had her exactly where he wanted her.

“No…” She sounded a little breathless but it might have been the covers muffling her voice. “Whatever you told Coin, it seemed to have worked.”

It hadn’t been him doing the talking, it had been _Katniss_. That aide of his would go far.

But he didn’t want to think about Katniss when his head was between Effie’s thighs. It would put him off.

“ _Haymitch_ …” she whimpered after only a few seconds. He felt the cushioned thud of the tablet on his head when she dropped it. Not _that_ professional _,_ then… It wasn’t long before tablet and blankets were flung aside and he felt her fingers tangling in his hair… And it wasn’t long after that before she came apart.

He crawled back up while she was still dazed, kissing his way to her mouth, already reaching for the open box of condoms on the bedside table… If it had been up to him… He trusted her enough to go without – which was maybe a first for him – but it was a matter of national security or whatever. It had been impressed upon him that he couldn’t leave DNA anywhere, not even inside a regular girlfriend – or the girlfriend would have an uncomfortable experience afterwards and it was bad enough Effie had been forced to sign a NDA when they had started this; sure _she_ had been the one to implement the NDA rule for his eventual lovers when she had come on the team but, still, he didn’t like it.

She snatched the condom from his hand, tore the paper with her teeth and rolled it on him herself, taking the opportunity to stroke him to full hardness…

It was a short aggressive bout, not quite the lazy _fuck_ he had come to expect in the early morning when she spent the night… But he wasn’t complaining. Not when it felt so _damn_ good…

He kissed her hard once he had his breath back and she responded in kind, which led to hands running on sweaty skin… He kissed a path down her jaw, thinking he might just be able to go again if…

“I need to finish working.” she mumbled reluctantly.

He glanced at the clock. Still too early for him to get up. Well, he _could_. He was sure there was no small amount of stuff for him to do, sign, or read over waiting in the Presidential Office but the Mansion ran on a routine and if he upset it that would mean lot of people would have to switch theirs – he had learned that the hard way. Sometimes, he missed being able to get up when he wanted, to cook himself his own breakfast and to get about his day at his own pace.

He rolled off her after a last long peck to her lips, made a quick trip to the bathroom and then settled on his back next to her, one arm folded behind his head, the other one swung across his stomach. During the short time it had taken him to handle business in the bathroom, she had buttoned her shirt back up and she had gone back to whatever she was studying on her tablet.

“So what was it that made Miss Prim and Proper curse?” he teased, nudging her foot with his own. “Beside my tongue, I mean.”

She pursed her lips and shot him an unimpressed look but he could see the smile tugging at her mouth so he simply lifted his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

She eventually sighed. “It was personal if you must know.”

“Personal.” he repeated, testing the word. In the months she had been working for him, she hadn’t once uttered it. As far as he knew, Effie didn’t _do_ personal. She was a workaholic just as certainly as he had a problem with liquor – not that this little gem had been made public, he was careful to keep a lid on it.

“Yes.” She was terse in a way that told him he should drop it.

He didn’t want to drop it. He nudged her foot again. “Better not be another man. Cause I can have him shot, you know.”

“How old-fashioned of you to assume I limit myself to men.” she retorted.

His eyebrows rose up higher. That was news. He took a moment to decide how he felt about it, not as unaware of her sudden tension as she probably would have liked, and then shrugged it off, deciding he didn’t really care as long as _he_ was the flavor she currently preferred. “Whatever. I can have _anyone_ shot, sweetheart. I’m the President, you know.”

“You _don’t_ say?” she fake-gasped. “You are _so_ low profile, I had _no_ clue.”

It tore a rare hard-won rumble of a laugh from his chest and he rolled on his side, punishing her by playfully biting her arm. “Cheeky girl.” She was fighting a smile and that made _him_ smirk. He felt stupid to be so perfectly… Yeah, _happy_. After a few seconds, it became clear she was doing her best to consider the subject dropped though. “So… How personal?”

“Is it important?” she hummed, apparently distracted. He knew better. And there couldn’t have been _that much_ to keep her interested in checking the news and what could potentially _become_ news. If anything had required urgent handling, she would have either already run to get it under control or informed him.

“Well, doesn’t really seem fair, does it?” he prompted. “You know my whole life inside out.”

 _Hell_ , she even knew when he was getting a root canal because she had to update the press about it.

“Do I?” she challenged with one of those looks that told him he didn’t want to take up that particular challenge.

Except he kind of did.

“Fine, maybe not my _whole_ life.” he granted. There were plenty of traumatic stuff he hadn’t shared and didn’t plan on sharing. “But you know the important things.”

More or less.

She knew more than most since Plutarch had more than likely briefed her when she had come onboard.

She pursed her lips – not in any playful way this time – and averted her eyes, closing the lid off her tablet and placing it on the bedside table. Then she sunk down the bed with a sigh, wriggling back under the covers and making herself a nest like the blankets thief she had turned out to be. He propped his head on his hand so he could look down at her and see her properly. He liked watching her. On the worst days, the sight of her was a treat.

“It was my mother, if you must know. She is summoning me for lunch.” she finally told him. “She does not seem to get my job is time consuming and I _simply cannot_ go waste lunch hour on…”

“You got up at five, sweetheart.” he cut her off in a gentle rebuke. “Take lunch off to go see your mom.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You are assuming I actually _want_ to see her.”

He couldn’t remember her mentioning her family before. He knew her parents were influent because it was Plutarch’s job to inform him. He knew her sister was married to a would be simpering politician the kind he absolutely hated. That was about it.

He sneaked his free arm around her waist, not surprised when she started lightly scratching her long nails up and down his forearm without even seeming to realize she was doing it. It didn’t bother him. He actually liked it. He mocked her fake nails on a daily basis but he enjoyed the deep scratches they left on his back…

“We are not close.” she added before he could prompt her. “And, right now, with all those rumors about us… She does not seem to be able to make up her mind between being overjoyed at the prospect of having a First Lady for a daughter or being horrified that I am dating someone who does not belong to one of the Capitol’s old families. She wants to see me so she can advise me to break it off before scandal hits, I just _know_ it.”

That was a lot to take in.

His whole body tensed.

He knew she felt it because she turned her head a little to meet his eyes, her expression half-tired and half-hesitant.

“She’s gonna be disappointed.” he commented.

“Isn’t she always?” Effie snorted bitterly, coiling her hand around his forearm in a move that was supposed to look casual but was anything but.

He watched her for a few seconds. She didn’t really look upset but she was good at hiding behind her masks and he was a little too agitated to be perceptive. “I’m not getting married.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you made that _very_ clear several times. Although I wish you would reconsider for your reelection chances alone. You _are_ popular but people still tend to favor family oriented politicians. A wife and a few children would make it much easier to sell your image…”

“Effie, I’m serious.” he insisted. “I’m not getting married.”

She studied him, her grip tightening a little on his forearm. “ _Ever_?”

He opened his mouth to confirm that because, really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She wasn’t the first one who thought a family would make him an easier sell on the political field. And he had always told them to _fuck_ off, his decision to never get married was old and written in stone at this point.

Except maybe it wasn’t _that_ deeply written in stone because he found himself wavering.

The thing was… He had never been interested in spending time with a woman who wasn’t the one he had lost so long ago. Then Effie had arrived and… She had changed things. She had changed _him_. She was the first woman since his dead girl who made him want to… He wasn’t sure they could call what they were doing _building something_ but it sure as _hell_ wasn’t casual sex anymore. He wasn’t sure it had ever even counted as such.

In the end, he winced. “ _Ever_ ’s a long time to commit to anything.”

 _Forever_ was never promised. He had learned that the hard way. And _ever_ … _Ever_ was a kind of _forever_ wasn’t it? Maybe he would change his mind and…

“Oh.” It was hard to interpret her tone but it wasn’t hard to interpret the way she tightened her grip on his forearm. “We never really talked about… If this is serious or…”

“Well, I sure ain’t _fucking_ anyone on the side.” he cut her off. And since she was apparently half-living in her office, it probably meant she wasn’t seeing anyone else either. Not that he had really been concerned about that until right then.

“Yes, but I mean… Is this just mindless fun or…” she hesitated.

“It’s fun.” he grumbled, dropping an awkward kiss on her shoulder to mask his embarrassment. “Doesn’t mean it has to be _just_ fun.”

It took her a few seconds to get around the convoluted formulation. To his relief, she didn’t start asking for clarifications or reassurances. That was one of the things he really enjoyed about her. She just… She _got_ him.

She flashed him a smile and he laid his head back next to hers so he could play with her hair on the pillow. He loved her hair, he loved it best first thing in the morning when it was still tangled from the night activities and it was a bit curly and wild… She kept it straight or tied in fancy buns during the day and she rocked the sexy strict Press Secretary look but… She looked so perfect without her armor, so beautiful… Just for his eyes…

It was a privilege she granted him, a show of trust, and he was aware of that.

They just stared at each other for a few seconds and Haymitch allowed himself to relax, at least right up until something passed on her face. A shadow of worry. Her eyes darted away from his and then back and, suddenly, she looked a little nervous.

“The thing is, Haymitch…” She licked her lips. “You _will_ need to campaign for reelection in two years and it would be easier with a First Lady…” She winced, probably realizing how it sounded and hurried to clarify. “Not _me_ necessarily but a _hypothetical_ one. I am quite confident Plutarch will make his case for that soon…”

“I’m not gonna marry to win an election.” he scoffed.

“Others have done it before.” she pointed out, escaping his arm to sit up cross-legged, facing him, the blankets pooling on her lap. “It may come to a point when the polls back us into a corner and you might reconsider and assuming we are still together at this time…”

“Effie.” he snapped. “If I _ever_ change my mind about marriage and propose to you, it won’t be ‘cause of polls, alright? What’s gotten into you? Wanna become First Lady so bad?”

She flinched at the accusation and shot him a mild glare. “If I wanted to be a trophy wife, I would have married one of the men Mother kept tossing at me since I hit puberty.”

There was a lot to unpack in that sentence. The defensiveness alone… Haymitch suddenly relaxed when he finally _got_ what she was trying to say. “You _don’t_ _wanna_ be First Lady.”

“I have worked _really_ hard to get where I am today. I am _the best,_ Haymitch, and it is hard enough being a woman in politics...” She bit down on her bottom lip and he sat up too to gently pry it free before she could hurt herself over a nonexistent problem. He brushed his thumb against her mouth and relaxed even more when she pressed a tentative kiss on its pad. “It is not that I do not want to marry you. Eventually. _Perhaps_. If _you_ ever decide… I simply do not want to be First Lady, Haymitch, not even if I would be _exceptionally_ _fabulous_ at it.”

He snorted. “You _would_ , too.” He shook his head. “Fine. Here. I promise I’m never gonna propose to you while I’m still President. No skin off my back either.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, leaning in to kiss him, tossing her arms around his neck. “I apologize for making it awkward.”

“Should apologize for waking me up before dawn.” he muttered against her mouth.

“Didn’t I already make it up to you for that?” she purred, bumping her nose against his jaw before sucking his earlobe in her mouth. 

He snorted again, simply enjoying running his hand on her back over the fabric of his shirt. She wore his clothes better than he did. He wanted to give into the banter, maybe coax her into another quick stolen embrace before they _really_ had to get up and face the day… It didn’t feel like the conversation was over though and he winced a little, pressing a kiss against her pulse point.

“Thing is, sweetheart…” He let his sentence trail off for a second. “We’re looking at two more years. Six if we’re reelected. That’s a long time to keep a relationship secret.”

The word relationship slipped past his lips. He blamed her.

“We can manage that.” she dismissed. “Haven’t you heard I am a _master_ at PR? Worse comes to worse, it can become an open secret. As long as nobody _officially_ confirms anything we can get away with it by turning it into a joke.”

That seemed awfully hopeful but…

“You’re okay with that?” he insisted. He didn’t mind one bit. His life being on display was one part of being a public figure he _hated_. Private should stay private in his opinion. But that didn’t mean he wanted to treat her or make her feel like a dirty secret either.

“I would prefer it.” she promised. “If anything, it does not seem fair to you. I am putting _my_ career above…”

“Don’t worry about that.” he dismissed, with a wave of his hand. “I’m good with keeping you to myself. Ain’t like we’re gonna be able to hide it from the staff though… We don’t really have to sneak around _inside_ the Mansion, I guess.”

“But sneaking around is fun.” she pouted. “And that is also why we have everyone who work here sign NDAs, you know.”

Right.

Master of PR, she was.

He wondered how long it would take _her_ to become President one day and if she would let _him_ be First Gentleman then…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? I hope you did! Please let me know what you thought!


	3. A Victorious Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I cannot stay away from this verse. Ok the prompt comes from a list reblogged somewhere on the penthouse. I couldn’t resist. Will I write more in this verse? Maybe, maybe not... I’m letting my muse run free. I do owe Jisoomes some requested sir coconuts... Still working on KTVS though, don’t worry. But in the meantime this does nicely for Sundays, right?
> 
> Prompt: “I won, because of you. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me.”

“There you are!” Effie exclaimed after slipping in the Presidential office without even bothering to knock. “Everyone is looking for you! It is almost time for your speech…”

It had been decided last minute that his victory speech would be held on the balcony in front of the City Circle since so many supporters were already gathered there. That meant less monitors to help him in case he blanked out in the middle of the speech but he had _promised_ her he had memorized the speech. She had made him recite it the previous night to distract him from his dark moments of doubts when he had believed he would lose to Alma Coin…

Well… Alma Coin could pack and go back to Thirteen, a place she should _never_ have left.

Haymitch’s second term had been hard-fought for but…

“Yeah, I need a minute.” Haymitch mumbled.

His back was turned to her.

He was standing next to the big window behind his desk, the one that gave over the gardens, his shoulders a bit too slouched for such a joyous evening.

Effie’s face fell a little and worry pushed her to close the door behind her. He didn’t protest when she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, propping her chin against his spine. He placed his hands on her forearms, hugging her without really hugging her…

She was happy for the simple touch.

The reelection campaign had strained things between them. They had both been under a lot of stress, Coin had played dirty and had unearthed a lot of ugly things about him like his now thankfully under control alcoholism, the dead people in his past, the less than glorious deeds he had been ordered to do when he had been in the military, their work-affair… It had made him retreat into himself like a wounded beast. He had shut her out, had lashed out at her, had generally tried to push her away…

But she had refused to be deterred. She had invested two years of her life in this relationship and she wouldn’t let it be sacrificed on a political step stone for Coin. She had poked and probed until he had finally let himself have a meltdown and then she had helped him stand back up and go conquer the country she firmly believe he was meant to lead.

Things between them had gone back to normal after that but… There was still some uncertainty, she mused. She was a bit insecure about his feelings for her and he was wary of hurting her again…

But now the results had come in and they had won and they could put all that ugliness behind them and focus on the future… She was _keen_ on looking to the future. There were a lot of good things they could do for Panem in the next four years.

“Darling, we really need to go.” she insisted after a few minutes, resisting the urge to drop a kiss on his back. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket because he never did when he could help it but he probably wouldn’t even feel it through the shirt and she didn’t want to stain it with lipstick anyway. “Plutarch will come hunting you down soon.”

He brushed his thumb against her forearm. “I’ve been an _asshole_ to you for months.”

_Now_ really _wasn’t_ the time she would have chosen to talk about them. Not when he was scheduled to address the country, thank voters and supporters alike and pledge himself to be the President Panem needed…

“We can revisit that later.” she promised, detaching herself from him. “Let’s…”

She fell silent when he gently grabbed her wrists, holding her where she was, her arms around him. “Thought you were gonna dump my stupid ass, you know… Kept waiting for it to happen…”

She rolled her eyes, tugging to free herself and then forcing him to turn around to face her. “Have I been frustrated and angry with you? _Yes_. Did I ever contemplate leaving you over it? _No_. Now, we _do_ need to go before…”

He winced. “The campaign… Coin…”

“I know.” she cut him off. “But it’s _over_ , Haymitch. We won. _You_ won.”

His grey eyes searched hers, soft enough that it made her frown. He rarely was so unguarded with his feelings, even with her.

“I won…” he repeated slowly, letting his sentence trail off a little. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with uncharacteristic nerves. “I won, because of _you_. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me.”

The unexpected declaration made her choke on a sudden lump in her throat, her eyes prickled with tears that she batted away. “It wasn’t _all_ me. It was a team effort. Plutarch…”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s _you_. It’s you I want when I’m down. It’s you I _need_ when I’m down.” He swallowed hard again, clearly nervous. “It’s you I need all the time.” He reached for something on the desk behind her. “Effie…”

“Oh god…” she breathed when she spotted the small square jewelry box in his hand. “ _Haymitch_ …”

There were a lot of reasons why this wasn’t a good idea, she reminded herself, lots of reasons they had gone over _several times_ – and a lot of those times _with Plutarch_ who insisted a married candidate had more chances of getting elected. But all the reasons were floating away right then because all she could see was the box and…

“I know we can’t do it now.” he said quickly. “Maybe never cause… Yeah, there’s your career and I get that but…” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red. “Thing is, Effie, I’ve been thinking I was gonna lose you for weeks and…” He shook his head. “I just… You’re the one for me, yeah? So… I thought maybe… If I give you this, then you’d know even when I’m being a huge ass. Like a reminder. And it’s there when you want it. _If_ you want it.” He made a face at his own inability to word things properly. “I don’t care much for marriage, you know. It’s just… If _you_ ever want…”

“Yes.” she blurted out.

He seemed to relax all of a sudden. He even chuckled a little at her eagerness.

She wrinkled her nose, not keen to be mocked, and playfully whacked his arm. “If you ask me _properly_.”

“I ain’t kneeling.” he scoffed. But he seemed to reconsider that and smirked at her with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Well… Might be persuaded to kneel _later_ if you lose that skirt _…”_

She pursed her lips but didn’t do a good job at hiding her grin.

“Ask _the_ _question_.” she insisted.

He rolled his eyes. “What’s the point when you know what I want to say and you already answered?”

“The point is I _want_ you to.” she retorted, batting her eyelashes in a pleading way that didn’t always get her what she wanted. Half the time he gave in because he thought she was being cute, the other half he teased her for acting like a spoiled brat.

He shrugged and opened his mouth – _to pop the question_ , she was _certain_ – when the office door opened again without any knocking.

“Mr President, we _do_ have a schedule and…” Plutarch started, gritting through his teeth, only to freeze. “ _Oh_.” His gaze was riveted to the little velvet box and he eventually rolled his eyes. _“Now_ you’re getting married?”

“We are _not_ getting married for at least four years so please forget you saw anything.” Effie snapped. “Now kindly step out and delay the speech a few minutes.”

“And what am I supposed to tell all the people waiting outside?” the Chief-of-Staff grumbled.

“That I’m working on the speech with my Press Secretary.” Haymitch shot back. “Now, _get lost_.”

“ _Haymitch_.” she chided but shot Plutarch _a look_ , lips pursed and narrowed eyes. “ _Do_ leave us alone for a minute if you please, Plutarch dear, and _do_ knock next time.”

She half-suspected Plutarch would make a joke out of it if the press asked and everyone would interpret in their own way what _working with the Press Secretary_ meant. There would be more _hayffie_ hashtags in her future.

“Where were we?” she asked, bringing them back on track.

Haymitch looked more amused than annoyed. He smirked at her. “Was gonna ask you to marry me.”

“Ah, yes. I recall now…” she joked. “Do proceed.”

He snorted. “You’re gonna make me _say_ it, ain’t you?”

She didn’t bother fighting off her smile. “Quite.”

He rolled his eyes but obliged. “Euphemia Gail Trinket…”

She wrinkled her nose. “I did _not_ need the full name…”

“Hush.” he chided her. “You want me to do this, you’re gonna suffer through it. Euphemia Gail Trinket, right hand of my arm, master PR of my heart…” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “master of my…”

“If you say _dick_ , I swear…” she warned.

“Bed.” He wisely switched tracks, laughter in his eyes. “Would do you me the great, huge, _fabulous_ honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”

_Why couldn’t he do things the normal way?_ , she wondered, unable to deny she liked it much better like this. 

“It depends.” she hummed, faking a deep reflection. “May I see the ring first?”

He snorted again and opened the jewelry box. The ring was, not quite as she expected, _perfect_. There was a huge pear-shaped pink diamond circled by tiny little sparkly ones. She hadn’t been aware he knew her tastes so well.

“Will it do?” he mocked. “Cause I’ve got a whole treasury somewhere we can raid if you want something different…”

“It will do _nicely_.” she breathed out, unable to actually joke about it.

She held out her left hand and he went to slide it on the ring finger but hesitated at the last second. “If you wear it on that finger… People are gonna talk…”

“Let them talk.” she dismissed. “I will lie through my teeth. I am not hiding the ring, Haymitch. And we _are_ getting married the moment you are not President anymore.”

The kiss took her by surprise but less so than the proposal.

Still, though, she was eager to accept both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? It's ridiculous I know but I'm indulging myself. XD I have a couple more ideas but I'm letting the muse run free so I'm not sure if I will add to it or not. There's been a request for the sir kink coconuts though so I miiiight do that... Idk. We'll see. 
> 
> I'm still trying to finish up the next episode of KTVS but I've been lured away, I will confess, and with all the stressful corona outbreak at my school I haven't been in a mood to work on serious stuff so... Yeah. But I'm working on it I promise. 
> 
> Anyway, did you like this chapter? Please let me know!


	4. Yes, Sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame Jisoomes, she wanted the sir kink coconuts so the coconuts she gets XD This, obviously, is pure coconuts. If there is a plot, hayffie and I lost it in the middle so… Yeah. I’m sorry for it being terrible. Coconuts and I, you know, it’s always an experiment. 
> 
> Also, yes, clearly this au lives in my head and there will be more because I HAVE written more XD

He groaned an invitation to enter at the knock on the door, happy to have a reason to stop staring at the papers on his desk, happier still when he spotted his Press Secretary slipping into the room and closing the door behind her.

“Are you still working?” she asked with a small frown.

“Kind of goes with the job.” he sighed, glancing at the old ornate grandfather clock in the corner. Sure enough, it was late. Late enough that he was fairly sure the office part of the Mansion was deserted, people having gone home for the night.

“Katniss stopped on her way out to _order_ me to get you to take a break.” Effie huffed, half-amused and half-outraged.

“Remind me to fire her.” he grumbled. “She’s my _fucking_ assistant. She shouldn’t grumble so much when I ask her for aspirin. It’s her job to find me some.”

Effie pursed her lips and watched him, one hand on a cocked hip. “And how many tablets did you ask her for exactly today?”

He watched her and then sighed again, relaxing back into the comfortable chair, letting his head drop a little so he could stare at the painted ceiling he now knew by heart after five years of staring at it during boring phone conversations. “Too many.”

“Well…” Effie clucked her tongue. “It might interest you to know she and Peeta were _finally_ on their way out to have a drink…”

He snorted. “Worn her down, did he? Good for them.”

But he didn’t manage to muster the proper enthusiasm. The kids were their main source of gossip – there weren’t that many ways to entertain yourself in the Presidential Mansion – and they liked to joke and speculate about them when they were alone. His lack of true reaction faced with what was huge progress on their part clearly told her everything she needed to know. Her smile dimmed and she slowly crossed the room to lean against the corner of his desk, her face turning a little serious.

He didn’t want to hear it so he rubbed his own face, hoping it would help him feel a little more human. “Are you going up?”

“I think it would actually be better if I took the walk of shame tonight…” She winced a little but quickly forced a cheerful smile. “And I don’t need special force Peacekeepers shadowing me so you can order them off.”

He shrugged. “That’s not me. That’s Plutarch.” And maybe _a little_ him. They may not be _officially_ a couple but it was an open secret and that meant she was an obvious target for anyone with a grudge against the President of Panem. “Do you _have_ to go? What’s the difference anyway?”

She went home so rarely nowadays that the press reported it when she _did_ go back to her place for the night. And they liked to speculate over lover spats or that kind of things even though they had never officially acknowledged anything – never mind the huge rock on her left hand – and she wasn’t the only senior staff member to live in the Mansion most of the week. Plutarch had recently given up on pretending he still cared about going back to his house every day for a couple of hours and had moved into one of the guest rooms.

Effie studied him for a few seconds, the fake smile fading again. “She really got to you this morning, didn’t she?”

The _she_ in question didn’t need to be named.

He had hoped after his reelection Coin would crawl back to her hole in Thirteen and stay in her lane but that had been far too optimistic. His other political opponents tended to play a hard game but, like him, they tried not to aim below the belt unless they couldn’t help it. Coin… It was another story entirely. The ends justified the means for Coin and she was never shy about bringing up painful events of his past to destabilize him.

And that morning, while they were very publicly discussing a new law he was hoping to pass in front of all of Panem’s Districts – a law that would _help_ Thirteen so he wasn’t sure why she was even opposing it except to irritate him – she had taken _every_ cheap shot she could get. And at least half of them had been aimed at Effie.

“I just _hate_ it.” he snapped, suddenly tired of trying to keep his temper under check. He wasn’t really good at that game: keeping cool, not losing his temper, thinking about what would come out of his mouth before spilling it… But, with Coin, it was necessary. She was out to destroy him and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “I hate the way she talks about you.”

Effie’s lips stretched into a small sad smile, a pale imitation of her wilder grins. “Like I am either the office _whore_ or a naïve idiot you are taking advantage of? She _could_ find an in-between…”

“It’s been _fucking_ years.” he scoffed, waving his hand in annoyance. “Everyone else got used to it. People _like_ it, even. You know they do.”

They liked speculating a lot more than they would like it if they actually came out and said they were a couple. They liked watching them like hawks, they liked dissecting every little stolen interaction on social medias, they liked the forbidden romance and most of them respected how private they were being about it… It hadn’t been the disaster Haymitch had feared in the beginning. Secret polls that he wasn’t supposed to know about but that Plutarch ran behind his back showed people _liked_ them together. They were a power couple or whatever the term was.

“Yes, but it is improper and it sets dangerous precedents.” Effie argued slowly.

He scoffed again. “Oh, come on… She should just let it go already. How is that any of her _fucking_ business anyway?”

It had taken Patina Paylor politely but firmly asking her to stay on topic for Coin to stop her ridiculous insinuations about Effie.

“Mr President…” She was using her professional voice, Haymitch hated it when she switched back to that in a middle of a personal conversation. She perched half a butt cheek on the edge of his desk though so it softened the seriousness of her tone. “I will tell you again what I have told you a hundred times if I wasn’t involved in the situation and you were having an affair with anyone else from the staff.”

“I know, I know…” He rolled his eyes. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

“I _will_ say it again anyway because it is _my job_ to advise you to the best of my abilities.” she sighed. “It would be _far_ more easier if the person in question quietly offered their resignation. The choice to go public with the affair or let it continue in private after that is yours but…”

“Can you stop talking about it like you ain’t involved?” he snapped and then shook his head. “You ain’t resigning. I ain’t having it.” 

She seemed to be hesitating over something. She dropped her eyes to her hands, rolling the engagement ring around her finger with her thumb… “You would never ask it of me, I know, but…”

“Effie. _Don’t_. Not tonight, I’m tired.” He passed a hand on his face again, leaving it over his mouth long enough to rub it. He needed to shave probably. A little roguish stubble was acceptable but an unruly beard was bad on a sitting President apparently. “It ain’t about all that anyway… It’s just… I hate how _dirty_ Coin makes it look.”

She looked back up at him, her lips stretching into a wicked grin, a spark of amusement coming back to her blue eyes. “It can be _pretty_ dirty, to be fair.”

He found himself smirking back. “Oh yeah? That means you’ve changed your mind about going up with me?”

“Oh…” She slowly stood up and finished walking around the desk, gently nudging the rolling chair back so she had enough room to slip between him and the desk.

He automatically spread his legs to accommodate her, his hands shooting to her waist, his fingers immediately finding the familiar zipper on her hip. He liked that white pencil skirt with the decorative golden buttons on the front and he liked the fact that he knew she was wearing a lacy bra under the raspberry silk blouse… Her fingers coiled around his wrists though and guided his hands to the hard surface of the desk behind her… He waited for her to sit down but she didn’t seem in any hurry to do so… She popped open the first two buttons of her blouse instead, giving him more than a generous hint at what was hiding underneath…

“I was thinking I might go _down_ instead…” she hummed with a salacious grin, slowly running her hands up his thighs, using them as leverage to slowly lower herself to her knees.

He opened his legs wider by reflex, sinking down a little in his chair… “Sweetheart…”

He wasn’t sure why he was chiding her because he was always very eager for that kind of activities and it wasn’t like they had never done it in his office in the first place but… He glanced at the door, very aware that it wasn’t locked and that Plutarch had a bad tendency of barging in at any given hour of the day…

It was late though. Late enough that nobody else was working, most likely, and…

“Am I boring you, Mr President?” She pouted, promptly bringing his attention back on her by unbuckling his belt. “Let me apply myself _harder_.”

“Effie…” he half-scoffed, half-chuckled. “You’re sure you wanna play _that_ game today?”

_After all Coin had insinuated_ , was left unsaid.

She broke character for a second, long enough to shoot him a brief glare. “ _Nobody_ gets to decide what _I_ enjoy behind closed doors and I _do_ enjoy toying with that dominant kink of yours.”

He rolled his eyes, feeling the tips of his ears burning red. “As long as you know I’ve never played that game with anyone else…”

“ _What_? You mean to say you do _not_ take advantage of _every_ woman who walks into your office?” She faked a gasp. “I am _shocked_.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, _focus_.”

“Who’s the dominant one again?” he mocked, earning himself a whack on the thigh for his troubles.

He would make her pay for that later, he decided, maybe spank her a little before allowing her to come…

It took all he had not to shiver when she delicately reached inside his pants and took him out.

“Open that blouse more.” he ordered.

She grinned and obeyed. “Yes, sir.”

_Fuck_ but did that do it for him… Never before her had he ever had a _sir_ kink. _Hell_ , people called him _sir_ on a hourly basis and it did nothing for him, not the way it turned him on in _her mouth_. Every time he heard the honorific from her lips, his dick twitched nowadays. It was a problem. And she knew it. And she was never shy about teasing him.

She used to slip sometimes in the very beginning of their affair. So set on refusing to call him Haymitch even before he had kissed her for the first time, on being _proper_ … Even when they had started sleeping together, she sometimes slipped and called him _sir_ at intimate moments and… _Yeah_. She had made him develop a kink. And she had made his _dick_ conditioned to think _sir_ meant it was about to get lucky.

He blamed her for that.

It was also the reason she mostly used _Mr President_ when she was being formal.

He stared at her modest cleavage, mouth watering at the sight of the light pink almost see-through bra she had on… The cups pushed her breasts up, like they were on display for his very pleasure and…

“May I touch you, sir?” she asked, laughter _barely_ contained in her voice.

She was _definitely_ getting spanked later.

“Anyone could come in.” he reminded her.

“Then I will have to be very quick.” she argued, innocently lifting her eyebrows.

The innocent act didn’t suit her at all.

“Minx.” he accused.

She snorted. “I have been called worse.”

She wrapped her hand around him and stroke him with the familiarity and experience that came from an almost three years relationship. Her engagement ring scratched against his length sometimes – it _certainly_ wasn’t why he had purchased it but he wasn’t complaining about that unforeseen consequence. In a matter of minutes, she had him hard. She swiped a bead of pre-cum from his head with her thumb and stuck it in her mouth with a hum of pleasure that made his hips jerk forward. She took that as an invitation and bowed over him, lips parted…

He tangled his fingers in her fancy hairdo, tugging just hard enough to stop her, knowing she _hated_ him tugging at her roots like that and, surely enough, she glared. He loosened his grip a little but caressed her chin with his other hand before slipping two fingers in her mouth. She immediately sucked on them, her tongue toying with them…

He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

She slowly withdrew, letting his fingers slip out of her mouth. “I want to suck you. _Sir_.”

_Fuck_ , but she _so_ wasn’t playing fair that night…

He guided her head to his groin a lot more aggressively than she liked if the way her fake nails dug into his thighs was any indication. Not that he really could feel the pain when her crimson painted lips closed on his head and her tongue was toying with him like that… He didn’t push her down or anything like that… From experience, he knew it was much better to let her take the lead at that point…

He loved the noises she made when she took him whole. She hated them, the gagging sounds, she thought it wasn’t sexy at all but… _agree to disagree_ , he always said. She was too good at working him up, she took him whole in her mouth, as much of him as she could anyway, a hand still wrapped around his base to guide him… It was too much, watching her head bob up and down, the glance at her perfect breasts every time she came back up… It wasn’t long before he was holding her head again, until his hips started rocking of their own volition, until he hit the back of her throat…

“Effie…” he warned, breathless.

She clenched his thighs once in a long ago tacitly agreed signal for permission and he stopped trying to reel himself in. She choked when he came, like she almost always did, trying to swallow everything but making a slight mess of it. She looked a bit dazed when she finally let him bob out of her mouth, whipping her chin with her fingers.

She didn’t like that part he knew, not as sexy as she would like. If only she could see it from his perspective…

“Lick me clean.” he demanded, his voice distant, his body heavy, gently petting her hair.

“Yes, sir.” she hummed, her voice a little rough from the abuse her throat had just taken.

She licked him clean and then waited expectedly, a flash of disappointment passing on her face when he tucked himself back in his pants and redid his belt buckle. He would have loved to _fuck_ her, truth be told, but he hadn’t been lying when he had said he was tired. It had been a long day full of headaches and he didn’t think he had it him to get hard again. He wasn’t as young as he once was.

“Stand up.” he ordered, keeping his voice calm, posed and slightly bored like he tried to do in meetings with aggravating people. She stood up, using his legs to haul herself to her feet and pushing her breasts close to his face in the process. She seemed disappointed he didn’t take advantage. “Turn around.” he ordered once she was standing between his legs. She turned around without arguing. “Bend forward.”

She propped herself with her elbows on the desk, her eyes riveted to the door on the other side of the room, apparently less at ease with the idea of an unexpected visitor now that she was the one exposed. He glanced at the grandfather clock again, decided their chances of getting away with this were good. They had gotten away with worse odds than this.

He slowly unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor at her feet.

She was wearing a white thong entirely made of lace that looked more decorative than practical.

He didn’t warn before slapping her right butt cheek and he very much enjoyed her startled cry. He hadn’t hurt her. He knew his strength and he knew how much she could take – and it was much more than this, they weren’t strangers to rough sex – but she hadn’t been expecting the sting.

“Did I not give satisfaction, sir?” she asked, trying to sound sad and failing miserably to hide her glee.

He spanked her three times in quick succession on her other cheek. “You’re questioning me?”

“No, sir.” she said quickly.

“You’re being punished for being a cheeky thing, if you’ve got to know.” he explained matter-of-factly. “Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” She chuckled, losing the plot for a second when he tugged a little on the string of her thong.

He slapped her between the legs in rebuke.

She jutted her hips back toward him, widening her stance a little…

“Sir.” she added a beat too late, remembering the game.

He spanked her some more, teasing her, watching her get flustered, but he was also aware they were playing with fire so he stopped kidding around and eventually buried his face between her thighs. The abrupt change from slight pain to pure pleasure made her cry out. He just hoped his secretary had gone home and wasn’t listening at the door.

He spread her inner lips open with two fingers and licked her hard, rolling his chair closer to the desk to have better access – and to prop her up because her legs were shaking. He _fucked_ her with his tongue until she started begging for more, a bit incoherent…

“How many fingers?” he teased, playfully biting her ass. He sucked the flesh in, eager to leave a mark. He hadn’t hit her hard enough to bruise – he hardly ever did – but he didn’t mind leaving her a little something to remember that night by for a few days every time she sat…

“Three.” she mumbled, sprawled on the desk, her hands clawing at the papers he hoped weren’t _that_ important… “Please, Haymitch…”

The raw need in her voice made him forget all about the game they were playing and he obliged, thrusting three fingers into her, doing his best to suck on her clit while he did that… It demanded some flexibility and it would have been easier to turn her around but he managed well enough by propping her right leg up, knee on the desk and ankle on the armrest of his chair. If her climax was any indication, her desires were satisfied.

He wasn’t sure how she ended up sitting on his lap, both of her legs on one side, snuggled against his chest, but she looked properly _fucked_ so he let her have all the cuddling she wanted… Her hair was all over the place, her underwear was all askew… After a few minutes, he thought she was going to fall asleep right there and he snorted, starting the long process of adjusting her bra, making sure her thong was still hanging in there, buttoning up her blouse…

“Guess that answers that question…” he mocked, pressing a small kiss under her ear. “You ain’t going back to your place unless you want a _real_ walk of shame…”

She hummed sleepily but when he gently nudged her off his lap she stood, obediently stepping into her skirt and not protesting when he pulled it up to her waist, struggling a little around her thighs…

“Don’t you _dare_ say I put on some weight…” she grumbled. “The dry-cleaner didn’t take care of it properly.”

_Right_. _Sure_.

He wasn’t stupid enough to say any of that aloud.

She looked gorgeous and if she ate more because she took most of her meals with him – and the cook was a starred chef – well so be it. Her ridiculous diets were over the top anyway.

“Come on…” he encouraged, placing a hand at the small of her back. “Let’s go to bed.”

She flashed him a wicked but tired grin. “Yes, sir.”

He snorted but it was all he could do to erase that grin with a tender kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have at least two more chapters, I have to confess... But since I am a little obsessed at the moment, there might very well be more than that so... yeah... I'm afraid there's no real HUGE plot... It's more slice of life... I hope you still enjoy those one shot in this verse... 
> 
> I also hope the coconuts wasn't too awful! Let me know your thoughts!


	5. The Great Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted "We are workaholics with God complexes.".
> 
> The prompt comes from a grey's quote list that has been reblogged on the penthouse blog.

“You’re a terrible influence.” Lyssa lamented, bringing the cigarette to her mouth with a moan. “I never touch a smoke when I am not with you.”

It was all Effie could do _not_ to snort. “What a coincidence… _I_ hardly ever touch a smoke when I am not forced to spend an extended period of time with Mother…”

Sitting prim and proper on the sun lounger across from her, her sister tossed her a chiding look while smoothing the bottom part of her shimmery midnight blue ball gown. The ball gown was beautiful but the effect was reduced a little by the fleece zip up jacket Lyssa had slipped on before they had escaped outside. Effie’s own red sheath dress was half hidden beneath the fluffy hotel’s robe she had been wearing when the prep team had taken care of her make-up and hair. It did very little to protect her against the chill in the air but the rooftop was the last place their mother would come to search for them and they had both decided, while getting ready, that they both needed a break after the whole day of catering to Elindra Trinket’s every wishes.

Security was tight already and it was only because of her status that they had been allowed to sneak out to the deserted rooftop. She was also very aware that Gale was discreetly standing guard at the door, doing his best not to be intrusive like all good special force Peacekeepers. Try as she might, she couldn’t convince Haymitch or Plutarch she didn’t need a bodyguard. 

“This evening is very important for her.” her sister reminded her, a hint of reproach in her voice.

“It certainly _is_ important or I wouldn’t be here.” Effie agreed, blowing out a long cloud of smoke. And that it was important for _Elindra_ and her social ladder climbing maneuvers counted less for her than the fact the charity event her mother had volunteered to organize was all about underprivileged children. She couldn’t resist charities about children and so when Elindra had called, Effie had agreed not only to be present but to come help supervise the last minute details on D day. “I simply wish Mother would realize I do not often get days off and I do not appreciate being treated like a slave when I do.”

Lyssa hummed something that might have been a scolding or an agreement, it was always hard to say with her because Lyssa tended not to want to take sides. And why would she? She was the _perfect_ daughter to their parents. She had made a great match with a wealthy man who had some political ambitions, she had two adorable little boys and a busy social life that meant her name regularly appeared in the social registers… Effie in comparison was a _great_ disappointment _despite_ the career achievements.

“You _could_ visit us a little more on your days off…” Lyssa suggested and, this time, the gentle scolding was clear in her voice. “You haven’t seen the boys in forever.”

“I video-chat them.” she defended herself, toying with her lighter. “I video-chat _you_.” 

“It isn’t the same.” her sister insisted, taking another drag of her cigarette. “I know you are _very_ busy but…”

“I _am_ very busy.” she cut her off, even more defensively. “Mother seems to think it is all about standing in front of the press and read a monitor but…”

“I know, dear.” Lyssa promised in an appeasing tone. “I just miss you, that is all. And I am sure Mother and Father miss you also.”

She doubted that _very much_.

She didn’t know when was the last time their father had bothered calling her – on election day, perhaps, to congratulate her on a campaign well-fought (he wasn’t a fan of Coin) – and as for her mother, lately, every time she called, it was to remind her that her position was precarious and that she should either publicly claim what the pink diamond on her finger meant or drop it in a locked drawer entirely and pursue other options…

Her blue gaze fell on the engagement ring around her finger and she dropped her silver lighter to nervously turn it around. She had lost some weight recently after a _drastic_ regime and it was a little loose. The sight of the ring made her feel like her stomach was tied in knots.

“Are you nervous about ‘ _The Great Meeting’_ tonight?” Lyssa teased, following her gaze and using air-quotes to repeat the coined phrase the press had been using all week – some of them _to her face_.

Effie licked her lips.

She had told Plutarch and Haymitch both that the President of Panem attending his Press Secretary’s mother’s charity events when they were rumored to be involved was inviting troubles. However, Haymitch had latched on the charity cause and had embraced it, vowing to give a sizeable amount of his own money as well as ordering his Secretary of Education to get a move on and help and, as a consequence, his non-attending the ball would have been more remarked on than his attending.

And aside from that… There were days when keeping up the denials and acting like they were nothing but good friends in public was harder than others and she expected that night to be _very_ difficult. Elindra wouldn’t make anything easy and Effie was determined to keep the introductions brief and to the point and then to keep her mother _away_ from the President all night. She didn’t trust Elindra not to try and force his hand in public. It would be just like her to try to make him acknowledge their secret engagement…

As it was, the press was _raving_ about Haymitch meeting her parents for the first time… And in public no less.

“Please, do not quote those rags to me.” she scoffed, faking disinterest. “You know very well all they print is _rubbish_.”

Lyssa flicked ashes from her cigarette, watching her for a second with obvious disappointment before glancing around. The view was stunning. The hotel was a little away from the City Circle and offered an the roof offered an incomparable view of the Capitol…

And the reason her mother had chosen this particular hotel at all was because it had been vetted by Peacekeepers in the past and, as consequence, was one of few buildings in the city that could host the President without any security concerns on short notice. It had smoothed the process a lot. And it also told Effie there _had been_ an idea at the back of Elindra’s head from the very start.

“I am concerned about you.” Lyssa said softly, a bit unexpectedly.

Effie frowned, a little alarmed. “Concerned? Has Mother said something? Is she planning something awful? Oh, you _must_ tell me if she is…”

Lyssa frowned too. “Of course not! She hasn’t said a word to me. But she is concerned as well. We _all_ are. Even Rufus said…” Effie had to fight not to roll her eyes and she probably wasn’t _that_ subtle about it because Lyssa pursed her lips. “Effie, I can understand why you would not wish to go public… I suppose that would mean you would need to resign and I know how much you love your job… But the fact that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging the relationship even to your family and close friends…”

“There is _nothing_ to acknowledge.” Effie cut her off, glancing around even though she knew they were alone on a deserted rooftop. It was only too easy nowadays for information to leak. One picture, one recording of a private conversation on a phone… She lowered her voice. “And if there was _something_ to acknowledge it is not at all about me not being _comfortable_ enough to talk about it.” Was that what her family was telling each other behind closed doors? That Haymitch was somehow forcing her hand? Were they buying Coin’s lies about him being some sort of… “It would be a _media nightmare_ and I would rather avoid _that_.”

Lyssa pursed her lips harder. “Then it means that you do not trust me. Who would _I_ tell?”

This time, Effie _did_ snort. “Mother for one. And then your husband. Mother would tell Father. Father would drop it casually to close business deals. Honestly, between the three of them, it would be all over the country within the hour…” She shook her head. “I am _not_ officially acknowledging anything until we are ready to.”

“And when will _that_ be?” Lyssa challenged, her eyes dropping to her left hand again.

On the day they had won reelection, after Haymitch’s speech, every journalist in attendance worth their weight had noticed her brand new shiny ring and had drawn conclusions. She had passed the ring as a victory gift from herself to herself but nobody was enough of an idiot to believe it. The public continued to be supportive or their badly hidden relationship so the status quo held. Critics existed, of course, but they were in the minority and mostly fed by Coin’s attacks. Politics was a dirty game but nobody could really accuse Haymitch of keeping her in post out of favoritism. She was excellent at her job and she had built herself a reputation long before she had set foot in the Presidential Mansion… She was a powerful enemy to have and nobody wanted to cross _that_ line for a cheap shot at Haymitch aside for Coin.

“A little over three years, I would say.” she admitted, finishing her cigarette and dropping it on the floor where she crushed it with her golden heel. She grabbed her equally golden clutch and rummaged around for the mints she always kept on herself in case of breath emergency – or in case she sneaked out for a cigarette because Haymitch hated her smocking and she had been very good at keeping it from him that she had sort of, _a little,_ relapsed since her mother had started organizing that charity.

“So long?” Lyssa lamented.

“It was my decision, if you must know.” Effie sighed, resigning herself to explain. “Not that I am _acknowledging_ anything, you understand.”

“No, not at all…” Her sister flashed her a grin. “We are just discussing your brand new boyfriend who is _not_ the most powerful man in the country. Why, for all I know it is that _delicious_ assistant of yours. You cougar, you…”

Effie was torn between laughing at the ridiculous joke and wincing in disgust. The result was an unflattering mix of both. “Let’s go for that, then. I am dating my assistant.”

Let’s hope Gale was _truly_ not listening. The last thing she needed was jokes of that sort going back to Katniss’ ears. Gale was panting after the girl like a dog in heat and wouldn’t think twice about reporting erroneous gossip. Effie hadn’t been coaxing the flames of Katniss and Peeta’s romance for _years_ only to be thwarted near the finish line by a preposterous joke.

“Are you happy?” Lyssa asked, sounding genuinely curious. And a little concerned.

The concern immediately eased when Effie smiled. A true smile that reached her eyes and that made her happiness shine from inside. “Very much so.”

Her sister grinned back, dropping the butt of her own cigarette to reach across the space between them and squeeze her hand. “Then I am happy for you. Is it _really_ difficult to hide all the time?”

“The downside of dating your assistant…” she joked.

Lyssa snorted but took advantage of the fact she was holding her hand to get a better look at the ring. Night had fallen at some point and there weren’t many lights on the rooftop but the visibility was enough for her sister to get a good look. “Well, your assistant has _exquisite_ tastes in jewelry. And he knows you very well, doesn’t he?”

“That was a surprise.” she confessed.

Lyssa lifted her eyebrows, scooting closer to the edge of her seat her with interest. “The proposal or the fact this is the ring you have _always_ wanted?”

“Both.” She gave her sister a half-shrug. “I do not want to finish this term as anything but a Press Secretary…” Certainly not as First Lady, no matter how much her mother hinted that it would be best to strike while the iron was still hot. “He knows that. And he isn’t exactly the marrying kind himself. It was a surprise. A nice one.”

Lyssa’s eyes were twinkling. “I hope I am _at_ _least_ a bridesmaid. I suppose Portia will be Maid of Honor?”

It was so rare for the two of them to share that kind of sisterly moment that Effie was almost tempted to offer the position to her but… Once this madness of a charity event would be over, she figured she _would_ prefer to have Portia standing up with her on her big day. If only to protect her from Elindra in a way Lyssa would never dare to. “I am not _currently_ planning a wedding, mind… However, yes, I suppose when I _do_ get married, you can be a bridesmaid.”

The _not planning_ was a little white lie. It was her go-to project when she had five minutes and wanted to relax. She had been browsing dresses, creating aesthetics moodboards and discreetly checking out what sort of locations they could book that would fit with the necessary security needed for the wedding of a former President…

“You look so smitten…” Lyssa teased, suppressing a laugh. “Look at you! You are smiling to yourself like an idiot. I _am_ glad. I _was_ a little concerned you had bitten more than you could chew, I should have known better. I bet you are the one wearing the pants in that relationship…”

She wouldn’t say she wore the pants. She _couldn’t_ wear the pants. He was the President of Panem, he had final say over _everything_.

“We are workaholics with God complexes…” She snorted. “We clash a lot.” Epic arguments that people had long learned meant they needed to give them a wide berth until they had settled whatever fight they were having. “But not in a bad way.” _Sometimes_ in a bad way… But the bad way always led to rough ways and the rough ways were… She tried to control the grin and failed.

Lyssa laughed again, apparently delighted with her silliness. “I can guess where your mind just went so I won’t ask about _that_ …”

“Ladies do not kiss and tell, dear.” Effie reminded her with a hint of amusement. “But the _kissing_ part is very… satisfying.”

Her sister shook her head. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“You’ve already met Peeta.” she pointed out. Her phone beeped and she slipped it out of her clutch… “Speaking of…” She let out a small sigh. “We should get down. Peeta is warning me Mother is on the warpath about our disappearance and the first guests are starting to arrive…”

Lyssandra didn’t groan because she was more polite than that but her face told Effie just how impatient she was to have to go downstairs. She could relate wholeheartedly. A whole afternoon spent obeying their mother’s barked orders had left them both eager for some quiet time.

“We should do this more often.” Lyssa hesitantly whispered as they passed by a grim-faced Gale Hawthorne to go back inside – that boy needed to learn how to smile. She needed to find him a girlfriend. One who _wasn’t_ Katniss.

“We should.” Effie agreed, already knowing it would remain an empty wish. She loved her sister dearly but some things had broken between them that she wasn’t sure how to mend. Their mother was always making everything a competition and… That was too much for Effie to deal with.

They got rid of the robe and the jacket before Elindra could catch sight of them looking anything less than perfect, made sure their dresses were flawless, checked their make-up and hair… Eventually, they ran out of excuses and had to enter the hotel’s ballroom that was already full of guests.

They joined their parents near the entrance, both ignoring as well as they could their mother’s silent chiding to welcome the new arrivals. Plutarch made a discreet entrance, his assistant on his arm. Effie didn’t like Fulvia Cardew but she had to admit the other woman had cleaned up nicely for the evening. They nodded at each other politely and exchanged fake compliments and empty conversation. Fulvia didn’t like her much either.

Once Plutarch had gotten inside, Elindra kept peering outside like she expected Haymitch to follow in his Chief-of-Staff’s footsteps. Guests’ arrivals were trickling down now and soon there was no more good excuse to wait out there…

“Your fiancé is late.” Elindra hissed at her with a glare, digging her nails in her flesh when she grabbed her arm.

“That would be difficult as I do _not_ have a fiancé.” she retorted. “If you would excuse me, I need to have a word with my assistant.”

“ _Euphemia_.” Elindra growled.

“Mother, I think you should open the ball.” Lyssa cut in with her usual gentleness. “It is time for your speech.”

Her mother thus distracted, Effie made her escape. Peeta was very busy chatting up Katniss – who had _also_ cleaned up nicely, thanks no doubt to the prep team Effie had sent her way; the girl was wearing a red-orange dress of Cinna’s latest collection – so she gave them a wide berth not to bother them and aimed for Plutarch instead while her mother got hold of a microphone.

“Any issue I should know about?” she whispered, only half-listening to her mother’s speech. It was a lot of fake modesty and numerous indirect compliments to herself – with the notable mention of the President’s patronage.

“I left him on the phone with Eight.” Plutarch sighed. “Patina is having troubles with Thirteen. _Again_.”

“Who _isn’t_ having troubles with Thirteen?” Effie clucked her tongue. “I am starting to think it would be more expedient to _let them_ have their Panexit.”

Plutarch made an amused sound of approval but Fulvia wrapped both arms around him. “I thought we agreed no shop talk tonight?”

“My apologies, my dearest.” he immediately said.

Effie had all the pains in the world not to roll her eyes. She pretended to focus on her Mother’s speech instead, already annoyed by her lies about having met with _poor children_ from outer Districts. There had been a meeting for a photo-op. Effie doubted she had taken the time to actually talk with them… And that was assuming she hadn’t just hired young actors to save herself the trouble…

Fortunately or unfortunately, Panem’s anthem suddenly boomed out, covering her mother’s words.

Effie wasn’t sure anyone had ever _dared_ interrupt her in the middle of a public speech before but protocol was protocol and she turned, along with everyone else, to the huge ballroom’s doors.

Haymitch looked a bit sheepish when he appeared, very aware of the fuss he had just caused when he had probably tried to make a sneaky entrance. That would usually have made Effie bite back a smile but the fact that, despite being told _repeatedly_ that the event was black ties, he wasn’t wearing neither tie nor bowtie and that the tux didn’t quite sit properly on his shoulders… Hadn’t _anyone_ checked him over before he had left the Mansion? Wasn’t that why he had an assistant?

One glance at her Mother told Effie she was close to having a stroke.

This wasn’t quite the glorious guest she had hoped for.

“Sorry!” he called out when it became obvious people were waiting on some kind of clue about what to do now. “Please, go on.”

He waved his hand and faded back into the crowd – or _tried_ to, his secret service Peacekeepers were a bit conspicuous and formed a protective circle around him.

Elindra took a deep breath, flashed a strained smile and gracefully thanked him for his presence before going back to talking about her _tragic_ trip to the outer Districts.

Effie used her monologue to slowly but surely weave her way through the crowd to the President. The Peacekeepers didn’t bat an eyelash as they let her step inside the protective circle but they kept glowering at anyone else who inched too close.

“Are you entirely _incapable_ of getting dressed without supervision?” she asked cheerfully. “ _Tuck_ that shirt in properly, will you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just be happy I made it at all, sweetheart. Thought Paylor’d keep me on the phone all night.”

She pursed her lips. “Anything I need to know?”

“It’s your day off and it’s handled.” he dismissed. “Had a good day?”

“ _Awful_.” She made a small face. “How was yours?”

“ _Shitty_.” He snorted. “Next year, when you take the only day off you’re gonna allow yourself all year… Let’s do something fun instead.”

She liked the sound of that very much. A whole day in bed with him. That was what she wanted her next day off to be like. They would do nothing but have sex and sleep. Perhaps they could watch some stupid TV shows… Oh, maybe he could give her a massage… Yes… That sounded much more fun than the day she had had. 

“Why? Did you miss me?” she teased, careful to keep her voice very low.

He tossed her a look that was equal part fond and annoyed as if she should know better than ask that much. 

“What happened to the bowtie I left _right_ in the middle of your bed?” she asked when he didn’t answer.

“No clue.” he lied.

Polite applause erupted around them and Effie clapped along with everyone else, her genuine smile freezing on her lips. She was torn between doing a disappearing act by blending in with the guests and sticking to Haymitch’s side like glue, not quite sure which approach would deter her mother more…

The choice was taken away from her when Lyssa made a beeline for her, three flutes of champagne in hand. Haymitch waved his security away before they could try to arrest her sister and tossed Boggs a heavy look. After a stretched-out but discreet exchange, the Peacekeepers fell back and went to line the wall. Lyssa handed both of them a flute, beaming at her and Haymitch in turn.

“Mr President, it is _such_ a pleasure to finally meet you…” her sister offered, entirely genuine.

Haymitch seemed a touch startled and turned toward her…

“This is my sister Lyssandra.” Effie said quickly.

“Lyssa, please.” Lyssa immediately chided. “Can I say… Effie’s new ring _that she gifted to herself_ is _extremely_ pretty and I am _very_ happy about this?”

Haymitch seemed a bit taken aback but he recovered swiftly and smirked. “I like you.” He glanced at Effie. “I like her.”

She gritted her teeth. “As long as you do not like her _too much_ …”

They both seemed to think it was a joke and laughed.

She decided she needed to make very clear to Haymitch later that she was _not,_ in fact, joking.

The laughter died quickly though because her parents were making their way to them and it seemed like the whole ballroom had stopped to stare.

“President Abernathy. We are honored to have you, Sir.” Elindra said, almost regally, even though it was obvious the honorifics cost her _a lot_. She wasn’t a fan of Haymitch, neither politically or on the human level. His blood wasn’t blue enough. “I have been _dying_ to meet you ever since Euphemia _graced us_ with that funny display on New Year’s Eve three years ago.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” he replied, turning on the charm and outstretching a hand to shake. 

Her mother looked at it with horror as if it was the worst _faux-pas_ but her father quickly reached to shake it, seizing him up like he always seized up a potential business partner.

The conversation, from that point on, was strained. It was clear the only redeeming quality Elindra was finding him was his position and she was really irritated he didn’t fall for any of her attempts to trick him into admitting he was a having a relationship with Effie. Tadius seemed to relax after a while once they started talking books but he wasn’t as impressed as Effie would have liked him to be. The only one who seemed to make a genuine effort to be amiable and welcoming was Lyssa and, for that, she was grateful.

“Mother, Father…” she cut in after ten minutes. “We _cannot_ monopolize the President’s time.” 

“It’s alright.” Haymitch politely offered but she heard the cringe underneath, the actual reality being that he wouldn’t have minded an escape.

“No, it is _not_.” she argued. “You need to mingle, S _ir_.”

She used the _Sir_ on purpose and he shot her a look, half-annoyed and half-stunned that she would _dare_ use that card in a full room, right in front of her _parents_. 

“Mingle. Right.” he said, a bit disbelieving. “Catch you later, sweetheart.”

The _sweetheart_ had her mother bristle at the indignity of an unmarried couple exchanging pet names in public. Effie didn’t linger long after he had headed straight for Plutarch – Fulvia was going to be disappointed about her night out being work-free – she gave her excuses and went to town working on the crowd, coaxing donations out of wealthy people who had far too much money.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been when Haymitch found her again but she had been forced to suffer far too many dances with old men tossed her way by her mother.

“Can I take you for a spin?” he asked, hand already outstretched, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“A spin, a drive, a kidnapping…” she muttered under her breath, placing her hand in his. “I am not picky tonight.”

He chuckled and pulled her into his arms, closer than they probably should allow themselves in public where every eyes were on them. “Ain’t that bad…”

“It _is_ that bad, _thank you very much_. I have been forced to deal with mother _all day_.” she snapped. “Do you _know_ what that does to me?”

“Drive you to smoke those cigarettes you think I don’t know about?” he taunted.

She promptly shut up, watching him with narrow eyes and pursed lips. “Have you been snooping?”

“I’m the President of Panem.” he reminded her. “I know _everything_.” She scoffed. He rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_. If you don’t want me to know about your cigarettes then don’t leave them in our bedroom where I can find them.”

She resisted the urge to remind him it wasn’t _their_ bedroom because it sort of _was_ even if it wasn’t official. Almost all her clothes were in the walk-in closet reserved to the First Lady.

“I am quitting.” she grumbled. She would buy patches and stock up on gum.

“Good.” He twirled her under his arm in a way that wasn’t _at all_ proper for that kind of dance and would have been more appropriate at a high-school prom. “Cause they’re bad for you and I like you healthy.”

It was entirely possible she melted a little in his arms… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid to say it but I have been writing so many more one shot for this verse... Dare I Say it, there might even be PLOT coming... But I don't want to say too much because you know I hate not having a story finished before I publish it and this wasn't planned at all so... I think what I really want to do is make sure every one shot can stand alone so there is no abandoned WIP situation further down. That's the plan anyway. So yeah... Expect more because for now I cannot stop playing in this particular sandbox. XD I am OBSESSED.
> 
> Did you enjoy this chapter? It might be a good universe for Effie and Lyssa to have a closer relationship... It certainly seems like it's heading this way. How did you think THE GREAT MEETING went? What will the press say? What will Elindra say? Let me know!


	6. Not So Easily Replaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘if you go through that door, don’t bother coming back’.   
> The prompt list has been reblogged on the hayffiepenthouse blog. 
> 
> Also this one is proof that hayffie are drama queens in any given universe and I was very tempted to title it just that: hayffie being overly dramatic XD

“If you go through that door, don’t bother coming back!” Effie snapped, her voice so shrill it could probably be heard corridors away.

Haymitch froze on the threshold of her office, his hand gripping the wooden panel of the door since he had been about to slam it shut behind him. Through the gap between his body and the doorframe, she could see everyone on the open floor office had frozen too. Every secretary, assistant and some of the senior staff in the Presidential Mansion seemed to have gathered to watch the show.

To be fair, their shouting match had been going on for give or take half-an-hour and, if the ache in her throat could be believed, she hadn’t exactly taken pain to be discreet.

She wasn’t even sure how they had gotten to that point in the first place. Sure, they had numerous arguments on a day-to-day basis but they had never ever gotten _so_ worked up about policies before, never mind one that concerned _taxes_. He wanted to tax wealthy people more, she had argued it wouldn’t be good for his optics, he had retorted that she was just worried about her own money since her bank account fell within the purview of the new proposal and it had escalated into…

She had left his office in a huff, he had followed her, arguing all the while, and had shut them up in her own smaller office which hadn’t helped at all clear up the situation. At some point, she had even lost the plot about what they were arguing about, her money, her trust fund, the fact that he was a self-made man or whatever that still meant when you were the _bloody_ President of Panem…

And now… Now he had just looked at her up and down with a look of loathing in his eyes, had spat that they were just too different and had turned around to leave on _that_ parting shot? _No way_. That _wasn’t_ happening. He _wasn’t_ getting the last word.

What she forgot in the heat of the moment was that they were technically working, however personal a turn the conversation seemed to have taken, and that she wasn’t supposed to address him that casually in front of people – he didn’t mind, _she_ did, in the last three years she had prided herself on being professional no matter what and…

He sneered at her, his grey eyes dark with an anger that their disagreement alone couldn’t explain. “You know technically I _own_ the place, yeah?”

“You do _not_ own this place.” she retorted with a hiss. “How _narcissistic_ of you. The Presidential Mansion is allotted to the President for the duration of his term. _Technically_ , it belongs to the people of Panem.” 

_Mr President_. She tried to push the honorific past her lips but failed. She was too furious, too…

He glared at her. “Given I’m _still_ President, it doesn’t change the fact this is _my_ place. I come and go as _I_ want, sweetheart, sorry to disappoint.”

She glared right back. “Maybe _I_ am the one who should go then!”

“Well, if you’re gonna be such a pain in my ass, maybe you _should_!” he spat, raising his voice to thunderous levels.

He had been matching her voice level so far but he hadn’t shouted _that_ loud and it made her flinch. She wasn’t the only one who startled. Behind him, everyone standing in the open office jumped in fright.

She clenched her jaw, waiting for him to retract himself but he kept glaring, sneering at her as if she was the _last_ person he wanted to talk to right then… _Well_ … She wasn’t staying where she wasn’t wanted.

He wasn’t expecting her to stride straight for the hat stand next to the door because he frowned, a flicker of uncertainly flashing through his eyes when she grabbed her coat and slipped it on. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” she snapped.

“You can’t. We’ve got a meeting in half an hour and then you’ve got the press briefing at noon.” he reminded her.

_Funny_ how he could remember schedules when he wanted to.

She huffed, pushing past him and into the open space. Everyone suddenly found something better to do than stand there and gawk. “Find someone else. I will email Plutarch my letter of resignation first thing.” 

“Don’t be stupid!” he snarled behind her, grabbing her wrist to stop her.

People weren’t doing a very good job at pretending to be busy. She could see Peeta and Katniss standing shoulder to shoulder against the opposite wall, watching the scene unfold with equal looks of horror on their faces.

“Oh, now I’m _stupid_?” she growled.

There was a touch of panic on his face but, unfortunately for him, it seemed to be quickly supplanted by his anger. She might have softened if he had stopped acting like a jerk but she was so furious herself right then that his irritation only fed hers.

“You ain’t the only person in this country with a degree in communication.” he warned. “You ain’t _that_ irreplaceable. Can have a new Press Secretary before noon if I want to!”

She didn’t _only_ have a degree in commutation and he knew _that_ perfectly well. She also had various degrees in laws, political sciences _and_ advertisement. She might not have been the only one but they were a rare bunch and she was the best one currently in the field.

“Good luck to them.” She laughed bitterly, tearing her arm from his grip. “Goodbye, _Mr_ _President_.”

She crossed the open space with her head high, completely ignoring Plutarch’s hasty exit from his office as if he wanted to intercept her.

“Effie!” Haymitch called after her.

Too late.

She was already at the elevator and it opened at the first push of the button. She didn’t stay to see if he would call her again.

She walked out of the Presidential Mansion with her chin up in the air, barely pausing long enough to hiss at Gale Hawthorne he didn’t need to follow her anymore. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t listen. She spotted his dark car following hers close despite the morning traffic.

That was one thing she wouldn’t miss, she decided, special force Peacekeepers following her _everywhere_.

She fumed during the mercifully short trip back to her apartment, started feeling the prickling of tears when she put her car in park but managed to hold it together until she was safely back inside her own home, slamming the door shut and locking it before Gale could have the ridiculous idea of coming inside to check the place over – something that had happened before and annoyed her to death, there were _no_ potential killers hidden in her closet. It didn’t stop him from hammering on the door.

“I’m fine!” she shouted. “Go away!”

It took him five minutes to stop knocking and asking her to let him in for security reasons.

And she spent those five minutes pacing the apartment and letting the enormity of what had just happened settle on her shoulders.

When it did, she burst into tears.

All things considered, she thought it was the ugly heartfelt loud sobbing that made Gale stop knocking. He probably didn’t want to deal with her being so emotional and she couldn’t blame him.

Her crying only increased when a quick tour of her apartment reminded her almost all her things had somehow migrated to the Presidential Mansion over the course of the last three years. She _hardly_ spent a few nights a month in there anymore and it was mostly when Haymitch was on a work trip in another District…

Her home wasn’t her home anymore.

She dropped on the couch, buried her face in her hands and sobbed it out, flinching every time she remembered the loathing in Haymitch’s voice when he had said they were too different, the rage in his eyes, the way he had failed to hold her back… Almost as if he had been eager to see her go. Almost as if…

It was a new habit of hers to turn her engagement ring around her finger when she was nervous. She hadn’t even been aware she had been doing it until her gaze fell down on her hand and focused on the pink diamond.

Maybe this was his way of taking the easy way out.

He had never wanted to get married before… She hadn’t expected a proposal. He had always been very clear he didn’t want a wife and…

_Maybe we’re just too different…_

And he had called her _stupid_.

_Easily replaceable._

Well… Good luck replacing her. There was a reason they had been through so many Press Secretaries before hiring her. Haymitch was impossible to work with and Plutarch wasn’t much better. Nobody would turn down a position at the Presidential Mansion because it looked too good on a resume but that didn’t mean they would keep them for long. Or that her replacement would be _any_ good.

As for her… She could go _anywhere_ she liked. Anyone would have been _happy_ to have her, she reminded herself, jutting her chin in the air. If Haymitch didn’t need her anymore, well… She would make do. She had half a mind to contact Coin and ask if she was in need of some PR advising – and her first advice would have been to do something about her hair, it needed a _revolution_.

First thing first though…

She slipped her ring off, feeling strangely off-balance once it was sitting on her palm instead of on her finger, and placed it on her pristine coffee table. She would send it back via dispatch rider.

Second thing…

She looked around for her tablet by reflex before remembering both her tablet and her computer were exactly where she had left them: her tablet on her bedside table in the Presidential suite and her computer on her desk in her office. She would text Peeta and have him drop them back to her later, along with the rest of her personal things. Unless Haymitch thought about that first and had everything shipped back to her before the day was through.

She wouldn’t have put it past him.

_You ain’t_ that _irreplaceable._

She fetched her phone from her purse, noting the avalanche of texts and vocal messages… She had at least ten missed calls from Plutarch, a couple from Peeta, three from Katniss, six from Boggs, and fifteen from a vague unassigned number that came directly from the Presidential Mansion. She didn’t let herself think it was Haymitch trying to get a hold of her. Most likely, it was security who wanted her access badge back and that also explained why Boggs wanted to talk to her. It _wouldn’t_ be Haymitch. 

She took the time to fill her electric kettle and flick it on before typing a quick mail to Plutarch.

_Dear Mr Heavensbee,_

_I hereby resign from my position as Press Secretary effective immediately on account of our President being the greatest jerk to ever live._

_You can expect a proper official letter of resignation addressed to him via dispatch within the day._

_I wish you my best._

_Euphemia Trinket_

She sent it before she could reconsider and sent the next call from the Presidential Mansion to voicemail. She would ship her badge and the ring along with the letter, she decided.

While her tea brew, she made a list of everything she would need to do.

Getting everything sent by dispatch was the first item on the list. Then came convincing Peeta to sneak her stuff out of the Presidential residence… She added convincing Gale Hawthorne she didn’t need any security anymore, brushing up her resume and actually contacting a few people to test the waters and see where she could find another job…

Then she found herself at a loss and her angry scribbling came to a stop.

She spent an embarrassing amount of time crying a little more into her mug of tea. Her phone kept ringing. _The Presidential Mansion. Plutarch. Katniss. Peeta. Boggs. The Presidential Mansion. Plutarch. Katniss. Peeta_. On a loop. She wasn’t sure why Katniss was calling. Maybe Haymitch had tasked her with getting rid of her stuff. Hopefully the girl would coordinate with Peeta and nothing would get tossed to the bin. She rejected every call. She wasn’t ready to face any of them. She also ignored Gale when he knocked and shouted through her front door that he had a phone call for her.

She was feeling so desperate that when her phone actually lit up with a number that _wasn’t_ linked to the Mansion, she picked up without a second thought even if it was Lyssa and she usually hesitated before answering Lyssa because it generally meant an obligation at their parents’ she wouldn’t get out of.

“Hello.” she said, forlorn, ready to be summoned to their parents’ house for tea or dinner or _whatever_. The day could _hardly_ get worse after all, could it? “How are you?”

_“How are_ you _, darling?”_ Lyssa retorted, genuine worry in her voice. _“They said you were ill… I was concerned. You never miss a press briefing…”_

A press briefing…

Was it noon already?

She glanced around but couldn’t find a single clock. She needed to redecorate her apartment… She scribbled that down on her list and then drew the phone away from her face long enough to check the time. Half past noon. Where had the time gone?

“They said I was ill?” she asked. That made sense. They couldn’t announce her resignation point blank, not with all the rumors surrounding her and Haymitch. The story needed to be controlled, carefully crafted if he wanted to get out of it unblemished. Not that his reputation was _her_ problem anymore. That was _her successor’s_ problem. Since she was _so easily_ replaceable. “Who’s doing the briefing?”

There was a frown in Lyssa’s voice. “ _It’s_ _Peeta. He looks terrified, poor thing. Effie, what’s going on? You sound weird. Are you alright?”_

Lyssandra was _not_ the person she would have chosen to talk to this about.

Calling Portia and getting wildly drunk with her best friend was actually on the list she had jotted down.

However there was no point lying about something that would be common knowledge before the day was through – Plutarch wouldn’t delay more than that because he wouldn’t give _her_ the chance to spin the narrative; unless that was what Haymitch’s chief-of-staff wanted to talk to her about… Not that it all really mattered anyway. She had signed a NDA – one that she had crafted herself so she knew it was iron-clad – there was no way to hurt Haymitch’s reputation without risking a fine at best and prison at worst. And she wouldn’t want to anyway.

“I quitted this morning.” she told her sister.

“ _You qui…”_ Lyssa sounded absolutely flabbergasted. _“You did_ what _?”_

“Quitted.” she repeated, jutting her chin up. She tried to smile like their mother always instructed but it turned into a wince that hurt her lips. She let it go. Her eyes were already puffy, her throat ached, and her heart, although she didn’t quite want to admit it, was broken in thousand tiny shards so there was no point adding more pain to the mix.

_“But you love that job!”_ her sister countered before muttering something she didn’t catch. _“Excuse me a second. Not now, Bryden, Mother is busy. Go ask Nanny.”_ There was a muffled sound like a door closing and then her sister’s voice was clearer. “ _Sorry. I am all yours._ _What_ _happened_? _”_

“What happened… I… I am actually _not_ quite sure.” How had this whole mess even started? It had all been _fine_ that morning. She had chided him about leaving toothpaste spittle on the bathroom’s mirror and he had planted a very toothpasty kiss on her lips and they had laughed about it and… She shook her head. “We argued.”

_“Oh, dear…”_ Lyssa gasped. “ _When you say you quitted you mean… You quitted…_ everything _?”_

“It was more like everything quitted me. I think.” she corrected. Had it been Haymitch doing the breaking-up or her? She wasn’t sure anymore. There had been so much shouting… And everyone gawking… And his ridiculous comments about her being stupid and replaceable… “Won’t Mother be disappointed…”

She was never going to be First Lady or married to a former President… That was her only saving grace in Elindra Trinket’s eyes lately…

_“Forget Mother.”_ Lyssa uncharacteristically dismissed. _“Effie, I have_ seen _you with him. You_ love _him. Can’t it… Can’t it be fixed? Was it so awful?”_

Being shouted at in front of the whole office had been _pretty_ awful. But she had shouted too, hadn’t she? And she had been disrespectful… Well… Not _truly_ disrespectful but he was the President and she had…

“He said he could replace me before the day was through.” she whispered, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice.

Lyssa gasped. _“He didn’t! The rascal! I am regretting voting for him.”_

She had to do a double take at that. “Lyssandra, did I hear you say you voted _progressive_? Do not _ever_ let Mother hear you say that or she won’t have any daughter she can be proud of anymore…”

_“Oh, pish posh…”_ Lyssa scoffed. _“Even Father voted for your President. I could not resolve myself to vote for that Coin woman. Have you seen her hair?”_ Despite everything she laughed. It was broken and a bit on the hysterical side and it threatened a little to turn into sobs but… Lyssa must have heard her distress though because her voice softened. _“Do you want me to come over, darling? The Nanny is here, I can be at your place in a flash. I could get ice-cream on the way. Or do you need anything else?”_

Would it be _extremely_ selfish to ask the sister she usually avoided as much as possible to stop by the Presidential Mansion to pick up her clothes? Effie was half-certain she didn’t have much in terms of underwear here. She could face a lot but a break-up with the man she was fairly certain was the only one she had ever _truly_ loved without some clean underwear… She wasn’t sure she could face _that_.

Another round of knocks on the front door delayed her having to answer. “A moment, Lyssa.” With a sigh, she abandoned what was left of her cold tea and wandered down the corridor. “Gale, _please_ , go away. My safety is not a matter of national security anymore.”

It never should have been in the first place.

_“The things you say… What a fancy life you live.”_ Lyssa joked.

Effie ignored her.

“Ah… It’s not… It’s not Gale.” came the muffled reply through the door.

The voice was so familiar that it _hurt_.

And the fact that he was _here_ …

She was unlocking the door and throwing it open before she could remember she was mad at him – _excessively mad_ at him. Haymitch looked sheepish, his hands buried in the pockets of his navy blue coat, a ridiculous black beanie pulled low on his forehead in an obvious attempt at anonymity… Behind him stood a scowling Boggs, his very unhappy bodyguard, and several equally unhappy special force Peacekeepers.

“You shouldn’t be here.” she said at once, shaking her head at his stupidity. Belatedly remembering that she was still on the phone, she shook her head again. “Lyssa, I have to go. There is a President on my doormat.”

_“Does he have flowers or jewelry?”_ her sister asked.

“Not that I can see.” she huffed.

_“Well, then… Make him grovel for it. And call me later to let me know you are alright.”_ Lyssa ordered before hanging up.

Effie dropped the phone on the table where she usually left her keys and then folded her arms in front of her chest, glaring at him. “You _shouldn’t_ be here.”

Haymitch winced. “Look, I get you don’t want to see me but…”

“My apartment hasn’t been cleared.” she snapped, her mind going in overdrive. “This is a security breach. How did Plutarch even allow this…”

“He didn’t.” he supplied.

“Well, my _easy-to-find_ replacement must be _worthless_ to let you do this.” she hissed, unable to help herself.

Haymitch winced harder. “Your replacement is a twenty-two year-old kid who’s out of his depths.”

So they had promoted Peeta then. Not the choice she would have made because Peeta was still too young but not one she disapproved of either. He would learn. 

“Can I check your apartment, real quick, Miss Trinket, so we can move this inside?” Boggs cut in, polite but tense. And he had reasons to be. The President of Panem simply _couldn’t_ stand in the open in a public building corridor hoping nobody would recognize him because he was wearing the worst choice of hats in existence.

“There is no reason for that. He is not coming in.” she scoffed. “He is going back to the Mansion, _where he belongs_.”

“Like _hell_ I am.” Haymitch snapped, pushing his way inside. Boggs, too used to his boss’ antics, grabbed the door before Haymitch could try and shut it. “I want _privacy_.”

“And _I_ want you not to get assassinated in your Press Secretary’s home. Sir.” Boggs retorted, adding the honorific a touch too late.

The Peacekeeper was usually so easy-tempered and loyal that Effie wondered exactly what kind of stunt Haymitch had pulled to put him in that mood.

“Fine.” she caved to expedite the whole process. Haymitch was too stubborn for his own good anyway and she wasn’t angry _at Boggs_ , the man was just trying to do his job.

“ _Thank_ _you_.” Boggs said in a tone that suggested it was good at least _one_ of them was reasonable and then turned to address the rest of his squad. “Watch the President. If he tries to sneak out _another_ window you have permission to use force.”

“Ha, _bloody_ , ha!” Haymitch grumbled after Boggs but his attention soon snapped back to her. “I needed to talk to you and you weren’t answering your phone. Thought you wouldn’t be able to ignore me if I just… showed up.”

“Were you seen?” she hissed. That was another concern. There was _always_ press lurking around her apartment’s building.

“Ain’t an idiot. I’m _incognito_.” He pointed at the woolen hat on his head that he had tugged so low it almost reached his eyes.

She wasn’t impressed and she let him know that by pursing her lips. “A beanie doesn’t make you unrecognizable, Mr President, it just makes you look like a burglar.” He flinched when she called him by his title but she refused to feel bad about it, not when he was forcing her to be _mature_ and _collected_ so soon after their break-up. “Are you sure nobody spotted you?”

“Who cares…” he grumbled.

“ _I_ care. People will talk.” she snapped.

“Won’t talk more than when you walked out on the Presidential Mansion’s balcony with that ring on your…” he started to joke, waving at her left hand only to choke on the words when he noticed her finger was bare.

Suddenly self-conscious, she bunched her hand into a fist as if it would make the absence of the ring that much more inconspicuous. No use, of course, he had already seen it. And whatever quip he had been about to make died on his lips as several emotions flashed on his face ranging from sickening panic to absolute seriousness in the span of five seconds.

He fished a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it by reflex, smoothing it out to find a printed version of her earlier mail to Plutarch…

“I’m not accepting this.” he declared.

“All clear.” Boggs declared, coming back from his inspection.

Haymitch gritted his teeth. “Good. Now _clear_ _out_.”

“Oh, no.” the bodyguard scoffed. “You convinced me to sneak you out of the Mansion… You convinced me to take you to a potentially dangerous location… You convinced me to forget the whole motorcade… But I draw the line at _this_. You are _not_ locking yourself up in an apartment with bay windows without myself or another Peacekeeper present. Sir.”

Again the sir came a little too late.

There seemed to have been a fair amount of _convincing_ going around in the last few hours.

She was honestly surprised Boggs had even gone for _half_ of that.

She supposed it did explain his numerous attempts at calling her though. 

“The kitchen.” she stated. “There are no windows and you can stand in the corridor and pretend you are not hearing what we are saying. Is that acceptable? It should be brief in any case.”

“That’s acceptable. _Thank you,_ Miss Trinket.” Boggs agreed, tossing the President _a look_. “Don’t rush on my account. I’m not here. I don’t see anything, I don’t hear anything.”

“That isn’t why it will be brief.” she replied tersely. “Come on, Mr President.”

She turned to lead the way inside but Haymitch caught her wrist. It wasn’t like earlier. He wasn’t _grabbing_ her. The touch was soft, almost hesitant.

“Stop calling me that.” he demanded gently. “Sweetheart, _please_ …”

“Shut the front door, will you.” It wasn’t quite a request and she didn’t wait to see if he obeyed. She escaped his fingers and showed him to the kitchen, trying to ignore the way he was looking left and right with open curiosity. He had never been here before. How could he have? It went again _all_ security protocols. “Wait here a second. Sit if you would like.”

It was all so awkward.

She left him to take a seat at the island in her kitchen and made a quick trip to the living-room to pick up the ring from the coffee table. It made her _sick_ not to wear it, it made her _sick_ that… But she wouldn’t make this any more difficult than it ought to be.

When she walked back to the kitchen, resolutely ignoring Boggs who was standing at attention against the wall of her corridor, doing his best to blend with her colorful pink and blue wallpaper, Haymitch had made himself at home. He had shed the coat and the beanie and was reading over the list she had abandoned on the counter. He looked a little pale.

“I was going to send it back to you, naturally.” she said in a clipped tone, placing the ring on the island between them. “If you give me a minute to find some paper, I can draft a _proper_ resignation letter.”

“Told you I don’t want it.” he quickly protested. “Effie, look…”

“You _also_ told me I was _stupid_ and that I was _easily replaced_.” she retorted. “So I fail to see why you would wish to retain my professional expertise…”

“I don’t _fucking_ care about your professional expertise!” he growled and then froze when he realized what he had said. He winced, rubbed his mouth. “Scratch that, I _do_ care about keeping you on but the job’s not my priority right now…” 

“You are the President of Panem. The job should _always_ be your priority.” she reminded him.

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought this morning when I was arguing with you about that _fucking_ stupid proposal… Then the job got between us.”

“The job didn’t get between us.” she hissed. “You said we were _too different_.”

He shrugged. “And we _are_. And it ain’t always a bad thing. Just… We can’t see eye to eye on _everything_ , that’s…”

They didn’t see eye to eye on _much_.

“Again. You call me _stupid_ in front of room full of our coworkers…” she growled.

“I said _don’t be stupid_. That’s not the same thing.” he argued. “And you were being… You were… Sweetheart, everybody knows about us but you can’t… The way you were talking to me… That’s fine when it’s the two of us but _at work…_ ”

He had a point.

She knew he did.

But she was too hurt to admit it.

And he had crossed the line first.

“So is Peeta getting the position permanently or are you looking at other people? Because I have suggestions should you need them.” she declared flatly. “Although you seemed so sure you could replace me _so easily_ … You must already have someone lined up…”

“Stop it.” he grumbled. “You’re the best and you know it.” That placated her a little. _Just_ a little, mind. Enough that when he reached for her hand, she let him. “I’m sorry. I was being an ass ‘cause you weren’t agreeing with me and that was _shitty_ of me.” Mollified, she didn’t resist when he tugged her closer. She could count on one hand the number of times he had actually _apologized_ in three years. “I _ain’t_ letting you go.”

She sniffed haughtily. “Did Plutarch read you the riot act?”

He snorted, all the tension leaving his shoulders when he realized she wasn’t going to push him away. He cornered her against the kitchen island. “Pretty much. Told me to get you back by any means necessary. He suggested sending flowers, jewelry and shoes.”

“Where are my flowers, my jewelry and my shoes, then?” She pouted. “I am, _after all,_ a spoiled brat with a trust fund… Very high maintenance.”

“You want me to apologize again?” he asked, a bit too seriously.”

She was tempted.

But her anger had vanished faced with his obvious remorse.

“No.” she sighed. “I suppose I _should_ apologize too. I was out of line.” When she thought back to that whole day, it all seemed _surreal_. And it was _barely_ early afternoon. “One could even say I was acting a bit insane.”

“Well, you’re PMSing.” he commented matter-of-factly. She whacked his chest, not playfully at all. “What?” He chuckled. “You _are_.”

She was.

She was also, as a rule, _never_ disposed to talk about _that_ with her fiancé.

If he _was_ still her fiancé.

He brushed his thumb under her eye and she allowed herself a second of panic over the state she must have been in with her puffy eyes, her running make-up and her hair in complete disarray. “You cried.”

It wasn’t a question.

She licked her lips. “I thought we were done.”

He snorted. “We’re _never_ gonna be done, princess.” He snatched the ring from behind her and grabbed her left hand. “You still wanna _maybe_ marry me?”

“As long as I get my ring back…” she hummed, aiming for lightness. “I was not crying over you, you know. I was crying over losing the ring. I am materialistic like that.”

“Sure, you are.” He humored her, slipping the ring back on her finger, where it belonged. He also leaned in to steal a kiss that she responded to with complete abandon. He must have been pretty scared about losing her too because there was something desperate to the way he was kissing her, _touching_ her… But when he tried to lift her up so she would sit on the island… “Boggs.”

He broke the kiss, drawing back with a frown. “Name’s _Haymitch_ , sweetheart. There’s something going on between you and my bodyguard I should know about?”

She rolled her eyes. “He is standing right next to the door.”

A door which remained very much open.

“Ah, but haven’t you heard him? He’s blind and deaf.” he mocked, leaning in to steal another peck. This one wasn’t a prelude to anything though. It was just soft and tender. “Let’s go home, yeah? We’re playing hooky this afternoon. Just you and me and whatever you wanna do…”

“We can’t do that.” she lamented. “We already lost a whole morning of work with our stupidity.” He looked like he wanted to argue so she pecked his lips harder and longer. “ _However_ , we can probably get away with finishing early… A quiet dinner, tonight, I think. With candles. Followed by a bubble bath. Also with candles.”

“And lots of sex.” he added with a smirk. “Candles optional for that one.”

She laughed.

He kissed her again as if he couldn’t stop himself and everything was right in the world once more.

“I love you.”

It slipped out.

She hadn’t meant to say it.

She had tried before but he always stiffened and flinched so she had just dropped attempting to express it, aware that it wasn’t about her, that he had a complicated history with those words… But sometimes… Sometimes there was a need to say them.

To _hear_ them.

He didn’t _quite_ flinch but he wasn’t entirely relaxed either.

Once again, he kissed her. Hard and possessive. 

“Can’t live without you.” he mumbled against her lips.

That was as close to an _I love you_ as she would get, she knew.

And it was enough.

She knew he loved her.

He wouldn’t have tried to sneak out of an overly guarded Mansion otherwise…

“Let’s go home.” she agreed belatedly.

His smirk softened into a rare small smile. When he held out his hand, she took it, entwining their fingers.

They wouldn’t be able to exit the building hand in hand for fear of exposure, of course, but the sentiment was enough… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild beanie appears... 
> 
> Can you see this story getting away from me? Because I am. I am OBSESSED okay? I have written 10 more one shot XD We're apparently dealing with hayffie not only being in the highest sphere of power but with their couple life... I don't even know anymore don't ask me. 
> 
> Yes, I will get to KTVS, as soon as I am done being obsessed over this. It's a phase. I will grow out of it. Hopefully.


	7. The Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day. I give you drama witch a slice of angst hahaha.

Saying that the day had been a long one wouldn’t actually be doing justice to it. Thanks to a major indiscretion from Haymitch’s Head of the Department of Agriculture, Effie had been battling a media storm all day. Every time she had been forced to step out on that podium to address the press, she had juggled dozens and dozens of questions related to the scandal, some more outrageous than others, and had walked a fine line between defending their administration’s legacy and condemning the action of _one_ man who, like most men in her experience, couldn’t keep it in his pants.

And between those very fun outings in front of the wolves occupying the press room, she had tried to get ahead of the scandal by gathering every little detail available so she wouldn’t be caught off-guard in case the story indeed got worse. In her experience there were always more than one skeleton in one’s closet and once they stared spilling out…

It was so late when she finally left her office that the open space office was mostly deserted except for the cleaning staff and the couple of people who always stuck around for the night shift in case something important enough to warrant warning the President happened during the night. She glanced in Plutarch’s office on her way out but it was empty, which was not surprising since weathering that kind of bump in the road fell under _her_ purview. _Lucky_ _him_.

She wondered briefly if Peeta had gotten home alright. She had sent him and her secretary Lavinia home a couple of hours earlier when it was clear she would have to keep working half the night. The boy had stayed a while longer though, insisting on finding her some take-out… By the time she had granted herself five minutes to turn to her box of tai food, it had been cold though.

Gale left the shadows and fell into steps with her near the elevators. He looked put out.

“Hello, Gale. Did you have a good evening?” she asked, only obtaining a vague groan in answer.

Gale didn’t like her.

She didn’t like him.

However he was the most junior officer on the team and that was the only way Plutarch could justify attaching a Peacekeeper to her since she wasn’t _officially_ anything worth protecting. In her opinion, they could just dispense with the security altogether but Haymitch wouldn’t hear of it.

She bypassed the elevators and headed for the main part of the Mansion, the part that looked more like a huge state home than a work place. Gale was walking a little too fast, following her a little too close, probably eager to ditch her on the residential floor where she would become someone else’s responsibility and his shift would _finally_ end.

She was so tired she was ready to collapse straight into bed. Would Haymitch still be up? Perhaps. The chances were decent if he was waiting for her. She wondered if she could convince him to undress her without having his way with her… She was too exhausted to even phantom _that_ thought but she was also too exhausted to face the prospect of having to take a shower and put pajamas on – never mind the whole routine of smearing cream on her face, brush her hair and the hundreds other things her mother would recommend she did to keep the bloom of her quickly fading youth…

The double stairs looked like an impossible mountain to climb and she sighed at the bottom, considering, for a very long second, just simply sleeping right there on the plushy carpet. She could have stayed in her office, a tired voice reminded her, it wouldn’t have been the first time she would have slept on the couch… As a concession to herself, she took off her high heels, feeling the cramps in her soles ease just an inch, before going up the first few steps. By the time she reached the residence’s floor, she had also unpinned her hair and let it fall loose and wild on her shoulders, not even caring about the picture she must have presented. Gale wouldn’t care and there was no one else around to see her.

Until there was.

“Freeze!”

The first thing she registered was that Haymitch probably _was_ still up because the lights were still on on the floor and the staff only turned them off once the President had retired for the night – how they knew when _that_ happened was anyone’s guess since neither Haymitch nor Effie usually warned them but she had long stopped second-guessing the efficiency of the staff that made the Mansion run smooth. The second thing she registered was the special force Peacekeeper in uniform, complete with a helmet Peacekeepers usually never wore indoors, one hand outstretched in front of him in an unmistakable _halt_ sign and the other placed on the butt of his gun in his holster.

In the state of exhaustion she was in, it took her brain a second longer than it should have to _compute_.

“Who are you?” she asked with a small frown, more irritated to see her great collapse in bed being delayed than scared of the overzealous Peacekeeper.

“Head Peacekeeper Thread.” Gale quickly intervened, stepping in front of her. Well… _Not quite_ in front of her. He was now standing between the two of them but he was also slightly to the side. “I’m Junior Peacekeeper Hawthorne. We met this morning.” 

“Ah. _The_ _situation_.” Thread said, relaxing just an inch. An inch was apparently not enough for him to take his hand off his gun.

“The situation?” Effie repeated dumbly. _What_ situation? She hoped it wasn’t another scandal because she didn’t have it in her to deal with another one right then. But then Gale cleared his throat awkwardly and she _got_ it. “Are you talking about _me_?”

Was she _a situation_ now?

Three years she had been involved with Haymitch and never had anyone referred to her that way within her earshot. Was that her _real_ codename? They _all_ had codenames. She had thought hers was _Gold,_ which had suited her just fine, but was her codename, in fact, _The_ _Situation_?

How _offensive_! She _wasn’t_ a situation. A _situation_ was what was happening with the Head of the Department of Agriculture. _She_ would never be that sort of _situation_ for _she_ had been very careful in _how_ she handled the whole _dating/not-dating_ _the_ _President_ thing. It was all out, there simply had been no official confirmation. And even if _somehow_ the press did get proof… Well nobody would blame them for how it had been handled. It would _all_ be smooth sailing. Opinion was on _their_ side. People did so love a love-story… And, besides, there was no one underage involved, no spouses or official partner to cheat on, no particular reason _why_ they shouldn’t be seeing each other aside for the bitsy tiny fact it wasn’t entirely ethical… And, then again, it was all about morals and morals were subjective… 

She was _not_ a situation!

“You need to turn around.” Thread declared, in an almost bored tone, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “You are not authorized to be on this floor.”

Again, it took a second for her to understand the preposterous words. “ _I beg your pardon_?”

“Hum… Head Peacekeeper…” Gale tried but one glare from his superior and he fell silent.

“You are not authorized to be on this floor.” Thread repeated.

For one wild moment, with their recent ‘break-up’ in mind, Effie wondered if that was Haymitch’s very cowardly way of getting rid of her but she immediately dismissed that as ridiculous. Haymitch was a lot of things but a coward was not one of them.

“Do you know _who I am_?” she scoffed, half-choking in indignation and anger.

She was tired, she wanted to lie down and sleep, and that man was standing between her and her bed. This was _not_ going to end well.

Gale could probably guess as much because he awkwardly shifted his weight on his feet, his gaze going from her to his superior with increased worry.

“Yeah, I know.” Thread shrugged with clear disinterred. “But there’s a protocol.”

“Yes, _thank you_.” she snapped. “I am the one who _designed_ it.”

The old protocol had been in _dire_ need of a brush-up, conceived for Presidents with a family not a bachelor one. She had rewritten that protocol top to bottom during the first weeks of being hired – well before she had even started entertaining the thought of sleeping with him. 

“Then you know there’s a list of people allowed on the residence’s floor. I’ve studied that list. You’re not on it.” Thread retorted. “Now, turn around before I have to treat you like a security risk.”

She wasn’t on the list?

 _Of course_ , she wasn’t on the list. Who would have thought to _put her_ on the list? Haymitch probably didn’t even remember it existed. Plutarch had, understandably, other fish to fry. No, really, if anyone had ever been likely to add her name to the list, it was _herself_.

But… In the beginning, Haymitch used to sneak her into the Presidential suite, then there had been a lot less sneaking around and gradually, so gradually she didn’t even remember when it had begun, she had more or less moved in. It had been _a long time_ since anyone had asked her to justify her presence on the residence’s floor. She came and went at all times of days, no Peacekeeper ever stopped her.

In truth, the man had a point and she knew it. Protocols existed for a reason, all the more so when it was all about national security, but…

“Look, there has been a misunderstanding.” she declared, forcing her voice into her usual polite calm tone. They were all reasonable people, after all, and the man was only doing his job…

“Then I suggest you fix it tomorrow. Now turn around.” the man barked, popping open the holster of his gun in a useless threatening move. He would _never_ dare shoot her. And he also wouldn’t move from the middle of the corridor, that was obvious.

Time to switch tactics.

“Where is Boggs?” she asked Gale, trying not to sound too aggravated. It would be easily fixed. She just needed to get Boggs to vouch for her.

“His kid’s in the hospital.” the young man explained with a wince. Anticipating her worried question, he lifted a hand. “He’s fine. He took a bad fall on the playground and he’s concussed so they’re keeping him in observation for the night. President Abernathy kicked him out and forbade him to come back until his son was home and okay for sure. Head Peacekeeper Thread is his replacement in the meantime. He just arrived from Two.”

Which meant this Thread was the highest ranking officer in the building at the moment – which was _unfortunate_.

She rubbed her forehead, heels still dangling from her fingers, wondering what she had done to have such a bad day. Was it karma? Had she done something _horrible_ in a previous life?

“Head Peacekeeper Thread…” she started, again curbing her voice into a reasonable tone. “I am _sure_ you _must_ know who I am and I am sure you can surmise I actually _live_ here, so…”

“Don’t care what sort of arrangement you’ve got with the President.” Thread snapped, clearly losing patience. “You’re not on the list. You’re not authorized to be on this floor. You insist on trespassing, I’m gonna have to use force to remove you. Do you understand?”

“Do _you_ understand what this ring means?” she hissed, hating to do this but lifting her hand to show off her diamond all the same.

“Can’t mean much or you’d be on the list.” he retorted without missing a beat. “Maybe he doesn’t fancy a quickie tonight because I haven’t been given instructions to let any lady in, so…”

“ _A quickie_.” she growled. “ _Any_ lady?”

“Oh boy…” Gale muttered under his breath before reaching for her arm. “Miss Trinket, let’s just go back down, okay? We can call up and have the misunderstanding cleared in a flash and…”

That was a very logical, very _sensible_ suggestion. And she would probably have jumped on it if that hadn’t involved going back down two sets of stairs at one in the morning when all she wanted to do was crash in bed. At this point, she would be lucky to grab four hours of sleep.

“ _For your information_ , President Abernathy does not _sneak ladies in_.” she snapped, done with this conversation. “ _I_ am the only lady allowed in his suite.”

She strode forward, chin up, regretting having taken off her high heels because she would have looked more regal with them on. Thread tried to stop her but she was quicker than he expected and she ducked to the side, continuing to walk.

“Freeze!” Thread shouted behind her. “Freeze or I shoot!”

“Miss Trinket!” Gale warned.

It was the fear in her bodyguard’s voice that had her turning around and she experienced a small heart attack when she saw the canon of Thread’s gun pointed right at her. For a second, she remained frozen in place, terrified that the man _would_ shoot and that nobody would care about the Head of the Department of Agriculture in the morning anymore because the headlines would all be about her being _murdered_ during the night _on the residential floor_ of the _Presidential Mansion_ , no less. _That_ would be a media storm very hard to withstand without her there to take point…

Then her senses returned and she started screeching like a panicked idiot. “ _Haymitch_! _Haymitch_! _Haymitch_!”

“Shut up and lie down on the floor, hands over your head!” Thread ordered. “You’re under arrest for…”

She didn’t hear what he wanted to arrest her for, she kept screaming for her fiancé, staring at the gun.

Gale seemed torn. His own gun was out and half-pointed at Thread but he kept lowering it as if he couldn’t bring himself to aim at a superior officer, not even _for her_ who he had been shadowing _for months_.

“Last warning.” Thread shouted to cover her screams. “Lie down with your hands on your head or…”

Haymitch often said her voice could shatter crystal if she applied her mind to it.

Well, it certainly didn’t take long for him to hear her, even if he was two corridors away.

“ _What the hell_ , sweetheart!” he called from around the hallway’s corner, right before he appeared in all the glory of his tousled hair, bare chest and bare feet. He must have been asleep after all. “Can you shout _any_ louder? There’s a dog in District One who didn’t…”

The taunt died on his lips when he caught sight of the situation – because _this_ was a situation – and reacted immediately by grabbing her arm and pushing her behind him. She finally shut up, leaning against his back, pressing her forehead between his shoulder-blades and pretending _really_ hard she wasn’t shaking as badly as she was.

“The _fuck_ is going on here, Thread?” he thundered. 

“Please, Sir, go back to the suite and lock yourself in until I’ve dealt with the intruder…” Thread snapped back.

“The what?” he repeated, baffled, his arm searching behind him until he had it wrapped around her as if to better shield her. He was looking around, clearly searching for a trespasser…

“It’s me.” she forced herself to say. “I am the intruder. I am not on the list so he would not let me pass. And then I _may_ have acted a little rashly.”

Because pushing her way into the President’s residence when she wasn’t on any kind of list _was_ , in fact, a breach of protocol _and_ security measures, and Gale had been right, it _would_ have been easily rectified, she had just been… 

“You _live_ here.” Haymitch snarled, glaring at his new bodyguard. “ _She_ _lives_ _here_. How is she an intruder? You drew your gun on my _fucking_ wife, you _fucking_ idiot!”

“I am not your wife and I was not on the list.” she cut in, taking a deep breath and stepping out of his shadow. “I will rectify that in the morning. Could you just tell him I am allowed on the floor for tonight so I can go to bed?”

Haymitch tossed her an incredulous look, anger and fear still shining bright in his grey eyes. “He drew a gun _on_ _you_.”

“He was doing his job.” she argued weakly, not even sure why she was defending the man. 

“No.” Haymitch scoffed. “There’s _not a soul_ in this building who doesn’t know you _fucking_ live here.”

“Sir, he’s just been transferred.” Gale cut in with a wince. He seemed to regret it immediately when Haymitch’s glare turned to him.

“And why were _you_ just standing there when someone was aiming a gun right at her?” he spat. “Remind me what _your_ _job_ is?”

“Haymitch, please.” she whispered, touching his arm. “I just want to go to bed. It was a very long day…”

Haymitch’s expression softened just a touch when he studied her but it hardened right back when he turned to the two Peacekeepers. “Get lost. Both of you. Go guard the doors outside for all I care. Send someone else up. Someone who’s not _stupid enough_ to try to kill the woman the whole country knows I’m involved with. Did you miss the _fucking_ diamond on her finger? Should I buy her a bigger one?”

“Sir…” Thread started protesting.

“Boggs’s gonna deal with you when he’s back.” Haymitch shut him down. “I don’t want to see you again. _Neither_ of you.”

That was harsh. She was more inclined to sympathize with Gale than Thread though.

Haymitch stayed long enough to watch Thread turn around and walk away, then he nodded at the corridor he came from. “Come on, sweetheart, before someone else tries to kill you.”

He shot another glare at Gale.

Effie briefly reached out and squeezed the young man’s shoulder before she followed him. “I will work on it, do not worry.”

“Don’t bother.” Gale grumbled, shrugging her hand off and stalking out into the dark staircase.

She resisted the urge to huff at his ungratefulness and followed Haymitch, not even trying to protest when she finally caught up with him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He was shaken, she could see, clearly not having expected to have to _ever_ face the prospect of seeing her staring at the business end of a gun.

“You cannot fire him for doing his job.” she sighed, knowing very well what he was thinking.

“Fine.” he growled. “But I can send him to the backend of nowhere and that’s where he’s heading. Like that outpost in the woods between Twelve and Thirteen…”

There was no point talking to him when he was in that kind of mood so she let it go, promising herself she would have a quiet word with Boggs as soon as possible so he would know the full story.

She almost moaned in relief when he led her into their bedroom and she lost no time escaping his arm to simply collapse on a heap on the bed like she simply never did. She curled up and closed her eyes, deciding she would go to sleep like that.

She felt his hand cradle her foot and she forced herself to lift her heavy eyelids to find him smirking, still shaken but a little less spooked.

“Long day?” he asked.

“The _longest_.” she mumbled crawling up to the side of the bed that was already unmade – he _had_ been in bed, then, which meant if the lights had still been on in the hallways it probably had been for _her_ benefit because _the staff,_ at least, knew she lived there…

He snorted. “Let me get you out of that dress.”

“As long as you know I won’t be able to put on any pajamas…” she countered, helpfully lifting her arms and shimming out of the fabric when he unzipped the dress.

“That’s fine, sweetheart. I never mind when you’re naked in my bed.” he teased, carefully unclipping her silk stockings and slipping them off. She blindly reached behind her for the bra’s clasp but he undid it for her. Then he lifted the blankets and bundled her in them, slipping behind her on what was usually her side of the bed. He pressed a long kiss on her bare shoulder. “Do me a favor and never goad a Peacekeeper into drawing a gun on you again ‘cause it took ten years of my life.”

She turned around and burrowed into him, nuzzling his chest. “Sorry.”

“Next time, maybe shout for me sooner too, yeah?” he insisted, burying his fingers in her hair. 

“No next time.” she mumbled sleepily with a shiver.

Staring at a gun once had been enough.

“No.” he repeated, too serious. “No next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy protective Haymitch and so-tired-she-doesn't-think-about-danger Effie? I hope you did! more to come in this story so I hope you're still enjoying it! (better buckle up anyway because it's my current obsession and it's all I've been writing in weeks so... XD)


	8. Rascal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? The less said, the better in this case I think… XD

Haymitch stared back at the monster currently lounging on his bed, not daring to make a move in case it attacked. He had tried to shoo it and had gotten growled and hissed at for his troubles. There had also been a very real attempt at taking his hand off with claws that he had only narrowly avoided.

He wondered, briefly, what was the good of being the President of such a large country if his special force Peacekeepers were going to let him get mauled to death by a wild animal – in his own bedroom no less. He wondered if Boggs would feel bad about that and decided that the man probably would _not_ since he was still annoyed with him over his latest security breach – he may or may not have walked _away_ from his bodyguards and _toward_ a fence crowded with people to hug a little girl who was calling his name because, as Boggs had aptly described him, he was a sucker for cute kids and that would probably get him killed one day. At least, Plutarch and Effie had liked the pictures that had come out of it, good for publicity or whatever – that wasn’t why he had done it.

Maybe letting loose the monster in his bedroom was Boggs’ idea of revenge…

He heard the door to the Presidential suite opening and closing.

“Honey, I am home!” Effie joked in a sing-song voice from the living-room.

He had half a mind to tell her to run and save her life, to leave him to his sad fate, but it was already too late, she was walking through the bedroom’s threshold, already taking off her earrings with one hand, her heels dangling from her other fingers… She looked positively ravishing with her little light pink dress – he may or may not have been ogling that dress a lot that day – and he would probably have pushed her down on the bed immediately if the bed hadn’t been currently occupied.

“What is wrong with…” she started to ask, frowning a little at his lack of reaction, only to spot the monster. Her face did something weird and a noise midway between squeals of delight and surprise escaped her throat. “Where do _you_ come from?”

The earrings were discarded on the dresser, the heels tossed in a corner – _never_ had he seen her pay so little attention to her fashion stuff before.

“Oh, aren’t you _a beauty_ …” she whispered, her voice turning both coaxing and soft.

She made a beeline for the bed and Haymitch almost told her to be careful in case she got mauled to death herself – that thing was _huge_ – but the monster, far from glaring at her like it had been glaring at _him_ , suddenly rolled on its back, exposing a soft-looking furry belly… Effie buried her fingers in the offered fur without a single second of hesitation and the monster started purring… No attempt to take her hand off or hiss or growl…

_Yeah._

_Go figure_.

“You got me a cat?” she asked, turning her bright blue eyes toward him, looking so happy and pleased that he _almost_ lied because he would have loved to make her _that_ happy.

“Sorry. Can’t say I did, no.” he scoffed. And if he had, he wouldn’t have chosen _that_ one. He would have gotten her one of the fluffy harmless sort of kitten, not this thirteen pounds monster. Though, to be fair, he supposed its long dark fur _was_ fluffy – or it would be if they untangled it.

“Then how did you get here, you little rascal?” she asked in a silly voice, scratching the cat under its chin, making it purr even louder.

“Didn’t get the memo?” he sighed, finally relaxing enough to kick off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt. It didn’t look like the monster was about to maul him to death after all, though he still suspected Boggs’ involvement. “We’ve got a mice invasion. Turns out there are a lot of _ethical debates_ about how to deal with that ‘cause traps are not _animal friendly_ or whatever… Like the mice don’t end up dead anyway… Anyway, they got a cat in…”

“Mice?” she squeaked, immediately pulling her legs up on the bed as if they were about to be run over by a sea of rodents. She also lifted the cat unto her lap – which Haymitch eyed with trepidation, ready to run to save her if it turned savage – using it as a shield.

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I gave them the go-ahead for the cat patrol but I shouldn’t have left Katniss in charge…”

_Clearly_ , he should have known _better_ than to trust a girl who had been dragging along a tomcat named Buttercup for as long as he had known her. He vaguely wondered if that monster she had brought back was a long-lost cousin of her own cat… It certainly looked just as ugly. No missing ears but his nose was… _flat_ as if he had knocked into something far too many times and as a result his head had remained… Well… _flat_..

“Cat patrol?” Effie repeated, dumbfounded. “ _Why_ wasn’t I made aware of this? It is _pure gold_ …” She lifted the cat and squished her face against its, rubbing her nose against its own. “Oh, you are going to be _a star_ …” 

“Doubt it ‘cause we ain’t keeping it.” he remarked. “It’s supposed to hunt mice, not sleep all day on my pillow.”

“ _Of_ _course_ , we are keeping _him_.” she snapped. “He is so _precious_...”

“Not the word I’d use…” he muttered under his breath, shrugging his shirt off on the chair in the corner where the staff usually picked up his dirty laundry – he used to leave it on the floor but Effie made it very clear that it wouldn’t do and, since her best way to convince him to do things he didn’t want to do was to go on sex strikes, he was more diligent about picking up after himself.

“Where did she find him?” she insisted.

He shrugged, stretching his arms over his head and wincing when something gave in his lower back with a loud _pop_. Sitting behind a desk all day really wasn’t good for him… “A shelter? Told her to go find one so they would stop pestering me… They spent half the morning showing me pictures of pedigree cats like on a dating show… Couldn’t get any work done so I said _fuck_ it… Trust her to come back with the biggest one she could find…”

“A rescue cat, even better!” She had that light in her eyes that told him she was going to turn this into a media thing and that tomorrow the pictures of the cat would be _everywhere_. “Does he already have a name?”

“Well, during the fifteen minutes I spent trying to shoo him off the bed and that he spent trying to scratch my hand off, I’ve been calling him _Monster._ Amongst other things you won’t like. But he doesn’t need a name, sweetheart, cause he’s _not_ staying.” he declared.

She ignored that last part, too busy nuzzling that _thing_ like it was an actual cuddle toy and not a very huge cat with very huge paws and very huge claws…

“Monster won’t suit…” she hummed… “Oh, how about _Rascal_? He does look a little roguish… He looks like a Rascal to me…”

“Sweetheart…” he grumbled.

“Don’t _sweetheart_ me.” she huffed. “We _cannot_ send him back to the shelter! Do you have _any_ idea what it would look like? No, no, no… The cat _has_ to stay.”

He rolled his eyes, not particularly happy about the idea of sending a cat back to a shelter either but… “He can stay _in the Mansion_. He can also go live in the kitchen or whatever. You know… Where the mice are.”

She pouted at him, hugging the cat close to her chest. The monster was purring like crazy, doing a good job of pretending to be an inoffensive ragdoll… Its eyes tracked _every_ of Haymitch’s movements around the room though. It was devious, that thing.

Haymitch wanted a shower, some dinner and maybe some quiet time with Effie before they turned in but he could tell, just at the way she was watching him, that he would get none of it if he tried to send that cat out the door.

“ _Princess_ …” he tried to soft-talk her.

“I _love_ cats.” she said, her pout turning a little more pleading.

_Damn_ her, she knew what she was doing with the puppy eyes…

“Does it have to be _this_ cat?” he sighed, already resigned to have to compose with the furry beast for the foreseeable future. He would have words with Katniss first thing the next day.

“Rascal is so nice…” She planted a kiss on the cat’s head. It looked up, still purring, apparently in adoration of her. Well… At least Haymitch could relate to _that_.

“It wants to kill me.” he pointed out.

“Nonsense.” she dismissed. “You must have scared him, that’s all. Come here, give me your hand.”

He gave her his hand very reluctantly and only because he would have given her the moon on a platter in she had asked – he was _that_ far gone and made no apologies for it. He tensed when she guided his hand to the cat’s nose, anticipating an attempt at scratching… The cat sniffed him and then twisted out of her arms. Hardly a declaration of love.

She let it go and it went to curl back on Haymitch’s pillow like it was the most natural thing in the world.

_Great_.

“See?” Effie triumphed, not quite interpreting its action the same way Haymitch did. “He likes you.” 

“Sure.” he deadpanned. With the cat out of the way, he had unlimited access to her again and he didn’t waste the opportunity to sit down next to her and wrap his arms around her, pulling her on his lap the same way she had pulled the cat on hers earlier. He nuzzled her neck, triggering giggles… “Missed me, sweetheart?”

“Not really.” she hummed.

“You little…” he scoffed, rolling her under him, prompting her to laugh louder. He peppered her throat with kisses, nudged her dress down as much as it would go so he could access her breasts…

The cat was staring straight at him, throwing him off his game.

“Haymitch.” she chided, apparently not happy that he had stopped his ministrations.

“Your cat’s a pervert.” he informed her. “Don’t forget to mention that when you turn it into a star or whatever…”

She strained her neck to look behind her, found the cat staring at them and rolled her eyes. “Well, I wanted a shower anyway… Would that be more… _Haymitch_!”

Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting to be hauled off the bed and tossed over his shoulder but she would have to compose.

He closed the door to the bathroom so the cat wouldn’t be able to follow.

He didn’t want to be interrupted again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the General of the Cat Patrol arrives XD Was there any doubt the cat wouldn't stay once Effie had her eyes on him? Poor Haymitch... He always ends up with murderous cats who steal his pillow... Was it Boggs who let him in? I won't tell if you don't ;)


	9. A Worried Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I killed Elindra last week, only fair that you get to admire her in all her glory this Sunday ;)

A creative loud curse startled Haymitch awake.

He tensed for a second, prepared for a threat only to relax and groan when he realized it was just Effie. He didn’t bother glancing at the alarm clock, knowing he wouldn’t like the numbers he would see on it. She always got up before dawn and he had long perfected the art of sleeping through the glow of her tablet.

It wasn’t often she felt the need to curse out loud though. The last time it had happened, he had been forced to fire the Head of the Department of Agriculture so he hoped it wasn’t _that_ kind of scandal.

He rolled on his side, intending to wrap an arm around her, and found his mouth full of hair. Not silky reddish-blond hair either…

“Thought you were in exile.” he mumbled into the black fur.

Rascal started purring in triumph, flicking his bushy tail in his face to better rub the point home: he was back where he belonged, _colonizing Haymitch’s pillow._

“We made up.” Effie informed him in a snappish tone, sitting far too upright, aggressively scrolling down as she took in whatever she was reading, her eyes moving fast behind the blue light filtering glasses she had taken to wear when she was working on screens late at night and early in the morning.

Haymitch lifted his head to study the smug cat, privately thinking that if _he_ had peed in her expensive designer shoes it would have taken more than some purring to be allowed back in her bed and that it was a little unfair. He knew better than to voice it. She had turned that cat into a star, exactly like she had said she would. 

Rascal was now officially the _First Cat_ – and had the medal to prove it. People had _loved_ the story just as they loved the cat who could look really majestic when he wanted to, _despite_ resembling a feline monster. The Cat Patrol had expanded, several members of staff regularly bringing their own cats – or having adopted one for the exact purpose of ridding the Mansion of mice – and despite spending all his time lounging on the couch in Effie’s office or on Haymitch’s pillow, and _that_ when he wasn’t strutting around the Presidential office like he owned the place, Rascal had been promoted to _General_ of the official Cat Patrol.

Needless to say mice still abounded in the Mansion and the cats spent more time being cuddled and fed treats than actually patrolling. If it had been his decision alone, he would have put a few traps and be done but Effie had threatened to _castrate_ him if he went and said any of that in public. She didn’t want an animal cruelty debate on her hands.

He ventured a scratch on Rascal’s head; the cat accepted the tribute and didn’t try to claw his hand off for once so Haymitch turned his attention to Effie. She had completely sat up, cross-legged on the bed, her focus wholly on the tablet, her hastily braided hair falling over her shoulder… The strap of her nightgown had fallen off but she hadn’t noticed and he didn’t think it was time to tease it further down, not with the closed expression on her face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, sitting up too.

“My mother gave an _exclusive_ interview to Viola Summercket.” she announced.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed that explanation. Even the cat had more sense than to make a sound.

After a few seconds, when it was clear that she wasn’t kidding, he cleared his throat. “And what part of that are we most mad about?”

Effie _hated_ Viola Summercket with _a passion_ that the other woman clearly shared. From what he had figured out they had been in the same class or something and they had been rivals for as long as could be. They had both been in the PR field for a while, working opposite, until Effie had been hired by Plutarch and Viola had started struggling to find work… Viola had then turned to sensational journalism – or, as Effie liked to put it: _trash_.

Summercket never got the necessary accreditations to be part of the official press pool that Effie briefed every day inside the Mansion.

“The part where they make it sound like I am a simpleton who does not know her own mind and you are exploiting me sexually by stringing me along with an empty promise of marriage.” she growled.

Haymitch carefully laid a hand on her shoulder and, when she didn’t shrug it off, shifted so he was sitting behind her, massaging her tensed muscles. It also allowed him to take a peek at the article over her shoulder.

“Coin said that a hundred times by now.” he pointed out.

“Coin is not _my own mother_.” she snapped. “This is going to blow up in my face at the press briefing.”

She wasn’t wrong. And from what he could see of the rest of the article, it was bad.

“She’s talking like we’re officially out.” He made a face. There was only so much they could work around, deny on technicalities, and omit _without_ outright _lying_ – something they had been very good at so far.

“She’s talking as if she has us over for dinner regularly.” Effie hissed. “She’s talking as if she actually _knows_ you. Oh, I _knew_ she had something up her sleeve… She has been _suspiciously_ quiet on the _leave him before he leaves you_ and _find yourself a proper husband_ or _get him to marry you now before he leaves office_ fronts. But to go to _Viola Summercket?_ ” She huffed. Haymitch dropped a soothing kiss on her nape before coiling his hand around it, giving it a possessive squeeze. She relaxed a little into his hand but huffed again. “ _Viola Summercket_.”

“I know.” he sighed, kissing her shoulder again and wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Can you fix it?”

She made an offended noise. “ _Of course_ I can fix it, that _isn’t_ the point, Haymitch. I was not planning on spending _hours_ being _questioned_ about _this_ today. Oh, I am going to _kill her_. Listen to this: ‘ _I am afraid of the influence this man has on my daughter’_ .”

He snorted. “If anyone’s influencing the other…”

“ _Do you think he is controlling her somehow?”_ she continued reading. _“Euphemia has always been easily impressionable and she has a thing for powerful older men…”_

“Older men?” he scoffed. “She makes it sound like I’m fifteen years older than you…”

As if he was the type of guys who went for girls fifteen years younger… He made a face but she went on reading.

“ _She is very closed off about what happens in that Mansion, she is secretive when she never used to be. I have never seen her so tight-lip about anyone and it does make me worry as a mother. Her sister too expressed concerns.”_ She stopped, huffed again, her fingers tightening on the tablet. “She makes it sound like we are so close…” She shook her head. “And _Lyssa_ …”

“Maybe she tossed her name and never asked her about it. Don’t jump at _her_ throat without hearing her out first.” he cautioned. Her relationship with her sister had improved lately and he thought it was good for her. Siblings were important. Plus, he liked Lyssa. The rest of her family were nutcases but Lyssa was nice enough.

_“Are you afraid he is… shall we say_ coercing _her into staying with him?”_ she growled. “What a _clever_ way to say you are abusive without _actually_ saying it…”

He lifted his eyebrows. That went a step too far. “Can we sue for slander?”

“We _certainly_ can but that would only add fuel to the fire.” she hissed. “No, the best way to deal with this is to dismiss it as the _garbage_ it is.” She was fuming. The last time he had seen her so furious she had quitted in the middle of the office floor and had disappeared for the whole morning, leaving him to panic and hunt her down to do some much needed groveling… “Listen to _this_ … _Euphemia is such a lively girl usually… Ever since she started working at the Presidential Mansion she is withdrawn, her light is dimmed and I do fear… I do fear the things that happen behind locked doors…”_ She made such a sound of fury that Rascal, correctly interpreting her mood, jumped off the bed and scampered off to the living-room. “She went too far this time. _Way_ too far. I have half a mind to _summon_ her to the Mansion…”

“Can do that for you. Send a few out of uniform Peacekeepers.” he offered, kissing the side of her neck. “You want me to?”

He wanted to _see_ it. Elindra escorted to her office where she would greet her from behind her desk, petting the huge furry black cat like a movie villain – and _she would_ he had seen her do _exactly_ that with people she was displeased with; she looked so bad ass, it turned him on every time. Just for _that_ , he was glad for Rascal.

She hesitated for a second and then shook her head. “I _cannot_ see her right now or I _will_ kill her.”

“Well… If you decide to kill her, take Gale with you.” He snorted. “You convinced me _not_ to fire him, let’s make him useful. He can bury the body for you.”

She snorted but she wasn’t quite amused. She scrolled back up to the beginning of the article and started reading it again… The piece was titled _A Worried Mother_ and Viola did her best to make Elindra look and sound like a saint. That probably angered Effie more than anything. That and the insinuations that he had a violent temper, that his sarcastic comments were often demeaning, that he treated her like an employee and not like…

“You think she truly believes all that or…” he asked, not really pleased with the idea his fiancée’s mother disliked him _that_ much.

“If I had married one of Father’s associates like she wanted to, the man could have beaten me bloody and she wouldn’t have lifted a finger. She would have simply told me to smile and to fix my problems in private.” she replied with enough conviction to make him frown. He hoped she was exaggerating but she knew best and her mom… _Well_. “This isn’t about you, Haymitch, this is about forcing my hand. She is hoping that this article will either force us to go public or that it will break us up. And I’m sure the five minutes of spotlight do not hurt her ego either…”

“Why would it break us up?” he scoffed. “That’s all _bullshit_.”

“Because it will make your life difficult by giving Coin some ammunitions and she thinks men only want one thing from women that you could easily find elsewhere if I become too annoying – which is why she thinks I should marry you while you are still willing.” she sighed.

“You’re very annoying.” he acknowledged, softening that with a series of kisses up the side her neck, nuzzling the soft skin behind her jaw. “Still don’t wanna _fuck_ anyone else…”

She reached behind her for his neck, turning her head enough for him to kiss her fully on the lips. There was only a hint of tongue, then she drew back reluctantly. “I need to get dressed and go to the office. I need to deal with this _now_.” There wouldn’t be many people in the office and he wasn’t sure what she could do before the sun had even properly risen up in the sky but he knew better than to question her. She switched off the news and to another app, bringing up a schedule – _his_ schedule. “No public appearances today… Good. Stay in your office.”

“Want me to hide?” he asked.

“I want you to let me handle this before it turns into a huge snowball we cannot stop.” she warned. “Ah, and _call Katniss_. Today of _all_ days, I don’t need her _snapping_ at the press if they ask her questions on her way in.” 

When it came to handling their public image, _his_ public image, she was the boss. She knew better and he trusted her implicitly. As for his mouthy assistant… He would do his best. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” she approved. She planted another kiss on his lips and escaped his arms and the bed to disappear in the bathroom. He stayed in bed, telling himself to either go back to sleep or enjoy the lie-in while he could… She was ready in record time for her, ready for battle in an armor of gold. The dress was light, weaved with thick decorative golden threads but the cut was professional and flattering to her figure, her make-up was a bit harsher than usual, her hair was twisted up into a complicated severe bun…

Yeah, Haymitch mused, _dressed for war_.

Eventually, he gave up the fight for sleep and got up too. By the time he ventured out of the residential floor, it was barely late enough for the office to start filling. Still, Katniss was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with a to-go cup full of hot herbal tea. She shot him a long-suffering look.

“Peeta called me.” she explained. “Effie declared it’s all hands on deck and I need to keep you busy in your office. No wandering by the press room today.”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t _often_ wander by the press room. Only when it was a long day and he wanted a glimpse of her. And if they had caught him once or twice, well… “Fine.” Katniss tossed him another look, studying his outfit for the day with a dubious expression. He scowled. “I’m staying in my office and I don’t have any appointments. Not worth getting dressed.”

He had put on some comfortable pants and a white long-sleeved shirt with holes in it that would have Effie faint in horror if she saw him. He wasn’t a fan of wearing suits if he could help it and, more often than not, he would end up shrugging off the jacket and wandering around in his shirt and waistcoat – again, to Effie’s irritation.

“Your funerals.” Katniss shrugged, probably thinking the same thing he was: Effie wouldn’t be pleased and, given her mood that day, he was risking his life.

He told the girl to mind her own relationship and headed straight to his office where he started reviewing the huge stack of files waiting for him on his desk. Plutarch came and went, rather placid given the story that was swelling outside. Haymitch forced himself _not_ to monitor social media because that wasn’t his job and he wasn’t that tech savvy but every time he checked, it seemed the article had gained some more traction. By the time mid-morning rolled around and they had their usual senior staff meeting, it had all the marks of a scandal about to blow in their faces. Effie looked like she had been sucking on lemons all morning. She told them she was handling it and they chose to believe her. She also pursed her lips, looked him up and down, and made it very clear if _anyone_ caught a picture of him in that outfit there would be _hell_ to pay.

At eleven a.m., an hour before she was due to address the press for her daily briefing, Katniss came in to show him a new post on Lyssandra Flavershym’s social media account where she virulently denied being _concerned_ for her sister and claimed she had never seen Effie so happy with her work before. Effie had liked the post but hadn’t gone as far as sharing it on her own account.

He figured that meant they were still on the _dismiss the article as garbage_ train. Sharing Lyssa’s message would have seemed like she cared too much, simply liking it was acknowledgement.

And the fact that he knew so much about PR maneuvers now probably meant he spent too much time with her.

Plutarch came in not long after that with budgets to review, which really wasn’t Haymitch’s favorite thing. They worked in silence for a while until Katniss wandered back in to tell him it was time for Effie’s briefing. He turned on the TV in the corner of the office, his attention half on the budget and half on the screen where Effie was stepping up behind her lectern.

She was assaulted with a hundred questions before she even opened her mouth.

Haymitch felt a bit bad that he was leaving her to handle this alone but it was probably for the best. And it _was_ her job.

“ _Did you see the article in_ Capitol Gossip _this morning?”_ one of the journalists asked once she had succeeded in hushing the room.

Effie flashed the woman who had asked the question a slightly condescending smile. _“As a rule, I do not waste my time reading gossip magazines, Ines. I am more interested in_ important _things but as I can see we won’t be able to move on with the scheduled announcements until we have talked about this ridiculous piece by an equally ridiculous would-be writer who has a personal grudge against me, let’s have it.”_

“That’s rather aggressive.” Plutarch commented, pushing aside the reports to fully turn toward the TV.

Haymitch did the same, closing the file in front of him to better watch her. There were a dozen questions fired at her in quick succession but she picked the one that suited her best.

_“Unfortunately, Viola Summercket’s ethics have regularly been proven to be lacking although I must say that taking advantage of an old woman like this must be a new low for her.”_ Effie answered flatly.

That made Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up. Had she just called her mother _old_ on TV? That wouldn’t fly well with Elindra Trinket, he was ready to bet.

Then again, she _had_ been ready to kill her this morning… This was an evisceration of a different kind. 

“ _Are you saying your mother doesn’t know what she’s saying?”_ someone asked, speaking over the rest.

Effie took the time to flash them a strained smile – a _willingly_ tense smile, as if she was a bit reluctant. _“The truth is, it is a_ sad _time in one’s life when you realize that your parents are aging up and start needing more help… I would not say my mother is_ senile _, of course, because she is still in a sound state of mind most of the time for now but…”_ She shook her head, sadly, letting her expression set into regret. _“I am_ appalled _that this so-called journalist would pressure my fragile mother like this… This will be my last comment on the subject, as our family attorney advised me not to publicly address the issue, but my sister and I decided this morning we might look into legal actions. My mother was very distressed by this person’s aggressive interrogation.”_

Plutarch let out a snort. “Oh, she’s _savage_. Elindra will hate that…”

Savage was one word for it. She kept answering questions despite claiming she was done talking about it, turning the matter around so skillfully that it all became about Summercket abusing a fragile lady who was losing her mind rather than about the two of them and their affair. She worked that press room like a _maestro_.

“You know…” Plutarch commented after a few minutes of watching her switching the story around. “If you don’t marry her, I might do so myself.”

Haymitch lifted an eyebrow and reclined back in his chair, his eyes darting between the screen and his Chief-of-Staff who he assumed to be joking. “I’m _gonna_ marry her.” Not that he really cared about that or needed the vows and rings to know he wanted her by his side for the rest of his life… But he knew _she_ cared. “Soon as we can.”

“Good.” Plutarch nodded, tossing him a small smile. “Because if you _do_ marry her now, she _would_ have to resign and we cannot afford to lose her.” The man studied Haymitch for a second before giving him a small shrug. “I really _wasn’t_ in favor of whatever the two of you had going in the beginning, you know. I thought it would come back to bite us in the bottom.”

“ _Ass_ , Plutarch…” Haymitch corrected in the dragging accent both Plutarch and Effie tried to work out of him. “Bite us in the _fucking_ _ass_ …”

His Chief-of-Staff clucked his tongue.

_“So there is nothing between you and President Abernathy?”_ a man asked in the press room with enough humor in his voice to make it clear what he thought about that. But he was turning it into a joke and that was what Effie liked to deal with when it came to the two of them. “ _He is not_ coercing _you into terrible things behind locked doors?”_

_“Oh, I can assure you there never was any_ coercing _involved between President Abernathy and I…”_ Effie chuckled as if she was letting everyone in on the joke.

The press room echoed with the laughter of the journalists.

_“And the shiny ring on your finger?”_ called out another. _“It still doesn’t mean anything?”_

Effie took the time to admire the pink diamond on her left hand before flashing them a blinding smile. _“Of course it means something… It means I have exquisite tastes.”_

_“In jewelry?”_ the same journalist challenged.

“ _That too.”_ Effie winked before clearing her throat. _“Now, if we could go back to business… I am pleased to report the Cat Patrol managed to reduce the mice population of the Mansion by two specimen yesterday. I believe that’s the most interesting piece of news on the agenda today so you will have to bear with me…”_

Haymitch lowered the volume after that, knowing she had the situation under control.

“I’m giving you two months.” Plutarch hummed thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked, distracted by the report he had opened again.

“Once your term ends. I’m giving you two months to marry her and have your honeymoon.” his chief-of-staff clarified. “Then I’m getting her elected somewhere so we have ground to build on. I _would_ have her running next election but having her taking the office _directly_ after you would look like nepotism… Better to wait four years.”

Plutarch had never addressed the topic before but Haymitch was utterly unsurprised. He glanced at the TV where Effie had managed to have them all eating in her palm. “She will be a great President.”

“You do not mind, then?” his friend asked, sounding pleased. “Walking in her shadow after being in the spotlight so long…”

“You know me _that_ bad?” he scoffed. He had long resolved himself to the fact he would one day be her First Gentleman and he didn’t mind it one bit. It wasn’t like there were a lot of things a former President could do once they had served their two terms… There would be charities but that would mostly be _it_. Politically, he would officially be done. Aside for going back to Twelve and retire there – which he really didn’t want to do… “Might wanna take it up with her, though, ‘cause I’m not sure she’s thinking about it yet.”

Plutarch frowned, looking surprised. “It never came up between the two of you?”

He shook his head. “Seems obvious to me but she never said anything. I’m not sure she realizes it’s an option.”

She was so focused on _his_ legacy…

“It’s _more_ than _an option_ , Haymitch.” Plutarch scoffed. “It’s a foregone conclusion.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t the one you need to convince. I’m happy with whatever she decides.”

She was wrapping up the briefing so he turned off the TV and focused back on the budgets, forcing Plutarch to do the same. His Chief-of-Staff was distracted though, clearly mulling over what he had just said. That was Plutarch for you, always planning years in advance… Most likely, he wanted her elected and him as her Chief-of-Staff… He liked being in the shadows more than he liked the spotlight. It suited him to be the whisperer behind the throne.

Twenty minutes later, Effie barged in his office with barely a knock of warning and sat down in the chair in front of his desk Plutarch wasn’t currently occupying, looking mighty pleased with herself.

“Lunch?” she suggested. “I am _ravenous_ …”

“That’s what you get for skipping breakfast.” Haymitch mocked.

“Peeta brought me coffee and a blueberry muffin, if you must know.” she retorted. “I am not _entirely_ helpless, _sir_.”

Her blue eyes were twinkling. He wanted to purse his lips and look annoyed because she was conjuring all sort of ideas with that _sir_ and talks of being _helpless_ but he ended up smirking because her good mood was contagious. It was a far cry from that morning.

“How much of the muffin did the cat eat?” he replied knowingly.

She pouted, tilted her head to the side with a chiding look, as if to tell him he wasn’t playing fair. “Poor Rascal was hungry.”

“He’d be less hungry if he actually _earned_ his food and _hunted_ the mice.” he pointed out.

Plutarch chuckled and stood up. “I will let you have lunch.”

“Oh, you can eat with us…” Effie quickly said. “I did not mean to chase you off…”

“I have a previous engagement.” the man excused himself, checking his watch. “I will be back by two. We can finish the budget then.”

That left them with over an hour…

Haymitch knew what he wanted to do with it.

“Wanna head up?” he suggested innocently when Plutarch had closed the door behind him.

“If we head up to the residence that will not result in the sort of lunch that will keep me fed.” she remarked playfully, already standing up. She was fired up. She was always fired up after the kind of miracle she had just pulled.

“Oh, I’m gonna feed you, princess…” he promised, letting the innuendo do its work. 

It was all he could do not to take her right there when she laughed…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Is Effie thinking about a Presidential future? Will Rascal ever catch a mouse? Will Elindra survive this? Let me know!


	10. The Chair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re ignoring the fact there are now 10 chapters when it was meant to be a cracky one shot. We are. Because it’s not like I have 20 more waiting, right? XD

“I still think it is not a good idea to push this right now.” Effie argued, pacing the length of the Presidential office, pausing from time to time to glare at the Persian rug that wasn’t particularly cooperating well with her high heels. “If we wait for summer…”

“Summer’s too far away.” Haymitch argued, not even looking up from the papers he was signing to address her.

“Summer is _slow_ politics-wise and it would be the perfect time for…” she insisted.

“Summer’s too far away.” he repeated in _that_ tone that irked her because it meant he was done listening and he was pulling the _I’m-the-President-so-I-get-the-last-word_ card. “I told those people I’d deliver when I ran again and that was _a year_ ago.”

She wished Plutarch was there because he would most likely than not agree with her and _perhaps_ the two of them would have been able to make him see the light. She _knew_ he cared about all the promises he had made during the reelection campaign but…

“You know very well that sort of things takes time.” she reminded him.

He did spare her a glance, then, half-amused and half-bitter. “I know that sort of things’s gonna take a backseat ‘cause the upper crust won’t like it and Plutarch won’t want to upset their _delicate_ _sensibilities_.”

She pursed her lips like she always did when he referred to the wealthy Capitol upper class in that derogatory way. She wasn’t _truly_ offended but it was a sore point between them, the way he judged her for her trust fund and her origins when _she_ didn’t hold the fact he had been born in the poorest District of Panem against him…

“A backseat does not mean it will never get done, Mr President.” she huffed. “And getting it out at a more appropriate moment might be more productive than…”

“You’ve made your point, sweetheart.” he cut her off, dropping his pen to watch her with that soft expression on his face that made all her ruffled feathers settle down. She glanced at the door that had remained ajar because she had only planned to come here for five minutes, not really happy about the use of pet names during work hours – although he _did_ use that particular pet name on everyone so… “And I get it. It’s a good point.”

“Then why won’t you…” she insisted, planting her hands on her hips.

“Because your job is to protect me from political drawbacks. _My_ job…” He let his sentence trail off and then hauled himself out of his chair, walking around the desk to go close the door.

“ _Mr President_.” she warned because she didn’t have time at all for any kind of sexy shenanigans, no matter how much she wished she had. And it was one thing to be adventurous in the office late in the evening but it was entirely another to do it in the middle of the day when she fully expected Plutarch or Katniss to barge in at any time or…

“Take my seat.” he ordered, leaning against the closed door.

Her eyebrows flew high in surprise. “I beg your pardon, Mr President?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s just you and me. Lose the formality, princess. And take my seat. Come on. Do it.”

She studied him for a moment with open curiosity and then mentally shrugged it off and obeyed the weird request. In the three years they had been together, she had never sat in that chair. She had sat _on him_ in that chair but she had never sat in _the_ chair. It felt almost _sacrilegious_ to do it and she hesitated. Rationally, she knew the chair had been brought in a little before Haymitch had been sworn into office but she couldn’t help… _The desk_ was the same. The desk had been there for _decades_ if not close to a _century._ It was a piece of history meant for the current leader of the country and to sit behind it… 

“Won’t bite, sweetheart.” he mocked. “Don’t be scared.”

“I am not scared.” she protested, unable to ignore the challenge. She gracefully sat down on his chair and sank a little in it because it was far less firm than she had thought it would be. That _couldn’t_ be good for his back. Her first thought was that she would need to order him a new one. Her next thought was that the room looked entirely different from that angle.

Ridiculous, really.

It was the same room.

Perhaps the novelty of standing in the Presidential Office – an experience that had her almost shaking with excitement the first few times – had worn off because she had forgotten how impressive it was. Sitting there… She realized maybe she _shouldn’t_ forget so easily. It was a privilege to be there, an _honor_ even, and…

“Your job’s to protect me.” Haymitch said again, pushing off the door and walking closer to the desk. She watched him come closer, running her hand over the edge of the mahogany desk… “The President’s job is to protect the people.”

“Of course.” she argued. “But you can do that and still…”

“No.” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Stop thinking like a politician, Effie. Think like a President. Panem’s citizens, people in the outer Districts, _when_ do _they_ need this bill to happen?”

“Yesterday.” she admitted reluctantly. And yet _politically_ speaking, waiting would make the fight a lot less difficult and…

“So it’s gonna happen _now_. Cause it’s the right thing to do. Not for _me_. For _Panem_.” he declared. “You get it?”

She watched him, leaning back a little in the chair to be able to stare at him without craning her neck up. “Why is it I feel like I am being lectured, here?”

He smirked, a weird expression on his face. Half-indulgent and half-amusement… “How do you like the chair, sweetheart?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too soft. I will have Katniss order you a new one. No wonder you complain about your back every two days…”

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare.” He chuckled. “I like my chair. I meant _the chair,_ anyway.”

She frowned, not quite understanding the distinction he was trying to make until… Oh, _that_ chair…

“It is a big chair.” she commented with a small sigh. “And it seems you are more suited to it than I am. If this was the point you were trying to make, I understand. However, since _my_ job is to make sure your agenda is…”

“Ain’t trying to say I’m better at it than you’d be.” he scoffed, flopping down on the visitor chair in front of the desk and putting his feet up on the wood, making her choke in outrage at the casual way he was treating _a piece of their country’s history_. Although it might have been a _bit_ hypocritical because she had been _fucked_ on this very piece of history before, quite a few times actually… “ _Shit_ , you can be thick sometimes…”

“ _Excuse_ _me_?” she hissed. She wondered how thick he would find her to be if she forced him to sleep on the couch in the living-room part of the suite for a few days…

“There’s only so many hints and baits I can give, Effie…” he teased, his grey eyes twinkling. “Thought you weren’t biting on purpose but…”

Hints and baits? Not biting?

Baffled, she started turning her engagement ring around her finger in a nervous reflex. Somehow, she was always scared he would second-guess and take it back. “Perhaps you better be plain, then. What is it you are trying to ask me?”

His eyes darted to the ring on her left hand and he softened even more, then he glanced back up. “I’m asking if that’s in the cards, if that’s what you wanna do when I finish my term.”

The end of their second term was three years away. It was far too early to think about what she would do next. She had figured she would try to find a job either with the next administration assuming they were progressive or with the next most likely President to-be four years after that assuming the Presidential Mansion turned to conservatives in three years…

“If _what_ is in the cards?” she asked, still confused about what it all had to do with the chair she was currently sitting in.

“I’m asking if you wanna run for President.” he said plainly, but not without that same hint of particular amusement.

She had to let that _sink_.

And when it _sank_ , she had to let it sink _again_.

“Run for President.” she repeated.

“You’re gonna have to wait four year after me.” He shrugged. “Not fair, I know, but we can pretend all we want, everyone knows we’re together… Wouldn’t look good for you if you took office right after me.”

“Wait, wait…” She half-laughed as if it was a joke, raising a hand to stop him. “You think I should _run for office_?”

He snorted. “Sweetheart, everyone here _expects_ you to run for office. Plutarch’s already making plans to get you elected to something important as soon as you’re not officially working for me anymore.”

_Plutarch was already making plans to…_

“Hey.” he said softly. “If you don’t want to…”

“No, no…” she interrupted, her laugher dying as the possibility took shape in her mind. “I just… I never really considered it, that’s all…”

“Really?” He let out another round of chuckles. “I’ve seen it coming since the first time you put a foot in my office…”

That had been… a long time ago.

“For what it’s worth, I’d vote for you.” he offered. “And that’s your choice, sweetheart, but you can be more than a Press Secretary, no matter how great you are at it. If I could fire Plutarch and hire you as my Chief-of-Staff instead, I would.”

She pursed her lips, shooting him _a look_ , leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs in a way she hoped was both intimidating and relaxed – _presidential_. “No, you would _not_. He is your friend and he is excellent at his job.”

“Fine.” he granted. “But if he left, I’d promote you.”

“Well I _am_ the logical choice but since we are sleeping together that would have everyone talking and, as a consequence, it is _never_ happening.” she hummed. “You truly think I could do it? Get elected?”

He didn’t even hesitate one second. “Yeah.”

She truly had never let herself consider that. She spared a second to imagine what her family would have to say if she talked to them about it. Her mother – who wasn’t currently speaking to her because of the stunt where she had publicly declared her to be little more than senile – was already half-horrified at the idea of her becoming First Lady to _this_ President and yet very fixated on the idea of getting her to actually _become_ First Lady… Elindra would never think she could _be_ President. Her father would laugh in her face… Lyssa would probably be willing to support her but she would also caution her not to be too hopeful about it…

But Haymitch was her family too and Haymitch was watching her in a very serene confident way, as if the matter was already resolved, as if he truly believed she would do it and it didn’t even deserve doubts.

“And… You would be alright with it?” she asked. “If I do it, that would mean…”

“Being First Gentleman’s probably less of a hassle than being Press Secretary. I think I can handle it.” he teased.

“ _You_ could handle being a trophy husband on my arm?” she taunted, lifted a pointed eyebrow.

He shrugged. “I’d make very good arm-candy, sweetheart.”

She studied him, trying to gauge how honest he was being. He looked genuine enough. And she knew Haymitch. Haymitch didn’t play mind games like that. “People would say a lot of harmful things. About you. About me.”

“Yeah, but that’s the game, right?” he sighed. “And we’re never getting off that train anyway. We’re always gonna be in the spotlight. Might as well do something good with it. And you could do a lot of good, Effie…”

She closed her hands around the armrests, anchoring herself to that very minute because it felt _momentous_ … A little like the proposal that had happened only a couple of inches behind her, next to the window, it felt like the sort of moments she would remember _forever_ in great details. A little like the first kiss they had shared a few feet away, closer to the couch nobody ever really used.

Perhaps she wasn’t done having earth-shattering moments in this very room…

“I suppose… I suppose I _did_ dream about it sometimes but… It didn’t seem… It didn’t seem like something…” she hesitated. “Like something…”

“Something you could do?” he finished for her, a little too knowingly. “Trust me, it’s been a long time since I stopped thinking there’s _anything_ you _can’t_ do… Honestly, I think you’ve got more than a decent chance. People like you, like _us_ , and you’re gonna have a former President backing you… Plus, Plutarch turned _me_ into President material… _You_ ’re gonna be a walk in the park…”

“You can stop trying to convince me.” She laughed. “I _am_ convinced.”

“Good…” He smirked. “Cause I wanna be able to call you _Ma’am_.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why, I should have known this was all a ploy to satisfy your dirty fantasies, _Sir_.”

His eyes darkened, like always when she used that particular honorific. He tossed a regretful glance at the pile of papers on his desk still needing his attention, looking a bit torn. They weren’t particularly good at controlling themselves so she knew she had to be the mature one, there. She stood up.

“I will let you have your chair back. For now.” she joked.

“I’ll keep it warm for you.” he promised, his smirk deepening. “Very _sturdy_ chair too… You wanna test it out more later?”

She grabbed the tablet she had abandoned on the coffee table earlier and tossed him a look, lips pursed to prevent a smile. “I will be in my office if you need anything, Mr President.” 

“Anything?” he asked hopefully.

“Anything _work_ - _related_.” she amended, tossing him an amused look over her shoulder. “Can you do dinner tonight?”

He shook his head. “I’m meeting with Paylor. I’m gonna be back late.”

Well… Perhaps she could see if Portia was free for drinks and ask her what she would think about her potentially becoming President one day… Knowing her best friend, she would be on board immediately – and ask if she could be her official stylist…

“I might sleep at my place tonight, then.” she said.

“Still trying to convince people you’re not living in my bedroom?” he taunted.

“ _Technically_ I am living in your _suite_ , not your _bedroom_.” she pointed out.

He snorted. “You’re the queen of technicalities.” 

“And that’s what makes me so good at my job, darling.” she tossed as a parting shot, pretending she didn’t see Katniss roll her eyes behind her back once she left the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... Does Effie look good in the chair? Can Haymitch be more in love? Yes, I am aware it could be considered ooc but you know what, there's a pandemic, we deserve some ooc love. Let's pretend it's post mj haymitch and he's found some peace and is actually ready for a real mature relationship. Also he's in love with her very very badly. ;) 
> 
> Did you enjoy this chapter? Please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! I hope you enjoy this little cracky one-shot! As always I would LOVE to hear what you have to say about it!


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